


Only You, Sterek

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU based on a movie, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Architect Derek Hale, F/M, Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Ouija, Romantic Comedy, best friend Erica Reyes, best friend Lydia Martin, have faith people, i'll add more tags as i write, sterek, there's some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: Derek gets the name of his soulmate off a Ouija board when he is ten. He's obsessed with finding them, but then his life irrevocably changes. He erases the name from his life and determines to live free of those stupid words, "fate" and "destiny".But on the eve of his wedding, he gets a phone call that will change the course of his life forever, and show him that maybe destiny does have a hold on him, after all.Or, the Sterek rewrite of the movie "Only You" that you never knew you wanted.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sterek fic ever, and I didn't mean to start it until after I finished writing the other big story I've been working on for almost a year, but my poor Sterek heart couldn't wait any more, so here's the beginning.
> 
> If you haven't seen the seminal romantic comedy, Only You, you should definitely put it on your list of "movies to watch", but maybe wait until after this story is completed so you can enjoy the fun of the story unfolding? Or not. I don't care, just definitely watch the movie because it is what my dreams are made of.
> 
> Thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated!

 

 

*****************

 

“This is so stupid.”

 

10-year old Derek Hale couldn’t hide the annoyance that was laced through his tone as he climbed the steps behind his 13-year old sister. The allure of their Uncle’s attic had been too much for Laura to ignore anymore. She had been begging Derek to explore the off-limits space with her all summer, and he’d been able to distract her enough by pointing out that it would be at least 120 degrees up there, and they couldn’t really explore if they were worried about heat exhaustion, now could they?

 

But that excuse wouldn’t hold up anymore, because it was late fall now. The leaves had fallen, it was too chilly outside to do anything, and they were working on day four of a driving rain that kept everyone and everything inside in the shelter. And Uncle Peter was gone all day at a conference, so he wouldn’t be any the wiser for their snooping.

 

Derek kept teasing her to go into the attic by herself if she really wanted to know what was up there, but he knew she’d never do it alone. She’d never actually admit to him that she was scared--reputation as the big sister to maintain, after all--but he knew it anyway. The truth is, he was scared, too. Their Uncle Peter lived in the Hale family mansion that had to be at least 150 years old, and houses that are that old have...secrets. Everyone knows that.

 

God knows what they would find up there. Derek had a vivid imagination, and he could picture all kinds of things that may be lurking in the shadows.

 

But no matter his fears, he still finds himself on a lazy Saturday afternoon, following Laura, who had practically sprinted up the stairs ahead of him once he finally gave in to her relentless nagging.

 

Above him, he hears a squeal and takes the last five steps quickly, expecting to find her covered with cobwebs (or maybe being attacked by a mummy), but instead finds her rifling through a heavy trunk she has found just past the top of the stairs. It’s dark up here--their only sources of light were a small window at the far end of the attic letting in light from the streaks of lightning outside, and a solitary, flickering bulb that looked like it could lose power at any moment.

 

“Derek! Come look!” Laura’s voice is muffled as her head is buried down inside the large trunk, but her excitement filters through, and Derek can’t help but smile. She has such pure, unbridled joy. And even though he’s still nervous about being up here, he can’t help but be wrapped up in her joy, too.

 

“You know Uncle Peter will kill us if he finds out we’re up here. What is it?” He stands just behind her as she piles things up next to her.

 

“It’s a trunk of mom and dad’s old stuff. There’s a bunch of letters, a few pictures, some old books, an old leather jacket--”

 

“--ooh! Awesome! Gimme that!” Derek grabbed the package from her hands.

 

“Easy! Don’t ruin it!”

 

“I won’t, butthead,” He dropped the cloth that had the jacket wrapped to the floor, and unfolds it carefully. “Do you think this was Dad’s?” His hands stroked the leather, surprised to find it still soft.

 

“I guess it would’ve been. This journal has mom’s name in it. This must’ve been their stuff.” Laura’s voice takes a melancholy turn for a moment, and Derek puts his hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t remember his parents quite as well as she does--he was only 5 when they died, and he misses them, but he’s lived without them longer than he lived with them, so he’s kind of used to it by now. A loud crash of lightning breaks Laura out of her thoughts and she shakes herself off and dives back into the trunk.

 

Derek’s attention returns to the jacket in his hands. He unfolds it and slips it over his arms, pulling it up onto his shoulders and testing it out. He pulls on the lapels and slides his hands down the front. It’s a little oversized, but it won’t be too big for long--he’s growing fast. Uncle Peter already complains about how much he eats.

 

“Well, whaddya think?”

 

Laura’s head pops up out of the trunk and she peers at him before bursting into laughter.

 

“It’s too big!”

 

Derek sticks his tongue out at her. “I’ll grow into it. I like it.” He lifts the collar and wraps it around his neck, pulling up on the leather so he can take a deep breath into it. Such a good smell.

 

Laura shrugs and returns to her search, her voice muffled again as she speaks to him from the depths of the trunk. “Whatever. You look ridiculous, Kenicke.”

 

Derek is still feeling out the jacket, testing out the pockets and the zippers when Laura squeals with joy.

 

“What is it?” Derek asks.

 

Laura pulls up a long box, wiping the cover off and showing it to Derek. “A Ouija board! Come on! Let’s try it!” She pushes herself out of the trunk and settles close to the flickering light bulb, pushing stray furniture out of the way to clear a space on the floor.

 

Derek lets out a groan, “Are you serious? I don’t wanna play with a Ouija board!” He kicks his feet in the dust and watches as Laura sits, pulling out the board and the plastic triangle piece.

 

“What’s wrong, Der?” Laura asks him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you chicken?”

 

As if on cue, a huge clap of thunder shakes the roof around them and the light flickers off and back on again. Derek’s grip on the leather collar tightens, and he hears Laura’s snicker.

 

“I’m not scared, Laura,” he says with resolve, hoping he sounds braver than he feels. “I just think the game’s stupid.”

 

“You’re totally scared,” Laura mocks. “Come on, play with me! It doesn’t work if I try by myself.”

 

Derek sighed and pulled the leather jacket around himself. He shuffled over to where she was sitting cross-legged on the ground, and flopped down across from her, the board between them.

 

“I’m only playing because you won’t stop bothering me about it.”

 

Laura smiled broadly at him. “Good call, little brother.”

 

“I’m not your little brother anymore, Laur.”

 

“You might be taller than me now, but you’ll  _ always _ be my little brother, Der-Bear,” she grinned at the use of the nickname he hated.

 

Derek groaned at her, “Can we just get this over with please? I wanna go back downstairs. I don’t like it up here.”

 

“Stop being such a scaredy cat. Just put your hands on the other side of this triangle.  _ Lightly! _ ” she slapped at his hands when his fingers pressed down too hard, making the triangle flip over.

 

“Hey! Do you want me to play or not?”

 

Laura sighed audibly. “Please, be helpful? Less like a barbarian, okay?”

 

Derek sighed in return. “ _ Fine. _ ”

 

Another rumble of thunder sounded around them as they fell silent, the room lighting up intermittently with the flashes of lightning. Derek watched the triangle, waiting.

 

Derek heard Laura’s breathing get deeper and he peered up at her. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be muttering something unintelligible under her breath. He looked down as he felt movement on his fingertips and he noticed her fingers twitching on the triangle. Derek’s eyes went wide with fear, and his breathing shallowed. He felt the triangle start to move, and his heart rate went up, his nerves tingling with anticipation. The only sound was the steady pounding of the rain on the roof, and the slight scratch of the triangle on the board as it began to slide around.

 

“Whatcha guys doin’?”

 

Derek startled from his thoughts abruptly and Laura shrieked in surprise as a head popped up into the space just off to the side of the board. Unruly blonde ringlets and a loud  _ pop! _ from an exploding bubble of gum made Derek groan, and Laura smack the top of her head playfully.

 

“Erica! You scared us half to death!”

 

“Ooh! A Ouija board! I wanna play!” She pulled herself the rest of the way up into the attic and situated herself on the floor next to Derek, between he and Laura. Droplets of water rained down from her as she sat down, causing Laura to squeal again.

 

“Erica Reyes, you are soaking wet!”

 

“Well, duh. It’s  _ raining _ , in case you hadn’t noticed.” She smiled at Derek and smacked her gum loudly, removing her cross-body bag and jacket and throwing them behind her haphazardly. Derek rolled his eyes as another clap of thunder shook the far window on its hinges.

 

“Did you walk here in the rain?” Derek asked her incredulously.

 

“It’s just water.” Derek shook his head at her. Not a lot stopped Erica when she made up her mind, not even a torrential downpour. She continued, “Plus, my house was boring. You guys should really lock your doors if you don’t want anyone coming in.”

 

“Can we get back to the board please?” Laura asked impatiently.

 

“No, Laura! Can’t I go downstairs and hang out with Erica?” Derek whined.

 

Erica frowned. “No! I wanna play! I’m an only child; I never have anyone to do this with. You’re staying, Hale.” Laura smiled at her, and then turned and raised her eyebrows at Derek.

 

Derek knew the fight was lost. “ _ Fine. _ But I get to pick the movie later.”

 

“Deal,” Erica smiled. Her hands moved to the third side of the triangle, her fingertips joining Laura and Derek’s.

 

Laura took a deep breath. “Okay. We have to be quiet, and tune our minds to the things in the spiritual world.” Derek could barely contain his snort of laughter, but he shut up as he heard Laura growl at him under her breath. They sat in silence for a few moments, the rain seeming to pound louder overhead, the triangle underneath their fingers still and quiet. 

 

Erica broke the silence with a whispered, “I think we’re supposed to ask it something.”

 

The three of them looked at each other, Derek with a skeptical look, Laura with a contemplative one, Erica with an excited look.

 

She spoke first. “I know! Let’s ask who is going to win the baseball game tomorrow!”

 

Laura groaned. “That’s a stupid question!”

 

Erica shook her head. “No, it’s not. We find out who wins, then we place bets on the winning team and we’ll be  _ rich _ .”

 

Laura rolled her eyes. “You can’t legally gamble anyway. You’ll get sent to jail before they can even get you the check.”

 

“Fine,” Erica huffed, disappearing into her thoughts for just a moment before her eyes brightened again. “Ooh! Let’s ask who we are going to  _ marry _ someday.”

 

It was Derek’s turn to groan. “Oh, come on! None of that annoying girly stuff. I don’t care about who you’re going to marry.”

 

Erica looked at him with sharp eyes. “I already know who  _ I _ am going to marry,  _ Derek Hale _ . I’ve known since kindergarten. I meant let’s ask for  _ you _ .”

 

Laura laughed at Derek’s reddening face, giving Erica a gleeful smile. “Ooh, yes! I like this idea.”

 

Derek pulled his hands from the triangle, giving Laura an annoyed huff. “I am not asking this dumb game who I am going to  _ marry _ someday.”

 

“Come on, Derek! It’ll be fun!” Erica shuffled around in the bag that rested behind her and pulled out a pencil and a notepad. Then she pulled on his hand, coaxing him back to the game board. “And if you don’t do it, I’ll tell everyone at school that you have Paige Krasikeva’s name with hearts all around it in your notebook at school.”

 

Derek’s eyes widen fractionally, then narrow at her. “You wouldn’t.”

 

Erica smacks her gum at him. “You know I will. So shut it, lover boy. Put your hands on the triangle and let’s find out if Paigey is your one true love.”

 

Derek looked helplessly at Laura, dismayed to see her smirking at him. She was going to be no help whatsoever. He stuck his tongue out at her again and reluctantly put his fingers back on the triangle.

 

Silence descended over the attic again, the rumble of thunder and the flickering of the lightbulb above them creating a spooky atmosphere. Derek looked up at a particularly bright flash of lightning, but his eyes were drawn back to the triangle when Erica spoke in a low, eerie voice.

 

“Ouija Board of Destiny,” she said in a ghostly voice, Derek rolling his eyes at the sound of it, but not moving his hands for fear of the consequences. He glanced over to Laura to see her with her head raised, her eyes closed tightly. He sighed and closed his eyes. “We summon your power to this glorious space to ask you to humbly bequeath your knowledge upon us. Please, oh spirit, inform us of the person to which Derek Hale will be betrothed to in his future.”

 

A rumble of thunder punctuated the end of her request, and Derek’s breath caught in his throat as the triangle began to move.

 

_ J--A-- _

 

“Stop it!” Derek hissed, looking at Erica. “Stop doing that!”

 

Erica looked at him indignantly. “Stop doing what?”

 

“Stop moving the thing! You’re pushing it!”

 

“I’m not pushing it! You’re pushing it!”

 

“SHHHH!” Laura interrupted them both. “No one is pushing it! The spirits are guiding it! Will you two shut up already?”

 

_ C--K-- _

 

Derek didn’t want to believe it.  _ Erica was definitely pushing it,  _ he thought as he looked at her. But her eyebrows were scrunched in concentration, her eyes completely closed, so she couldn’t see the board at all. His gaze flew to Laura, but her eyes looked back at him, registering just as much surprise in them as Derek’s.

 

At the pause on each letter, Erica would remove one hand and write the letter down on the piece of paper next to her. Derek followed her hand, but frustratingly couldn’t see what she was writing. He tried to keep track of the letters in his head, but there were too many after a while, and his head was swimming with too many thoughts to keep track of them.

 

_ This can’t be happening. Spirits aren’t real. It’s just a dumb game. _

 

He tried to convince himself. But he couldn’t control his shallow breathing as the triangle on the board continued to move of its own accord.

 

_ But...I’m not pushing it.  _

 

The triangle moved a longer distance this time, down to the word  _ GOODBYE _ at the bottom of the board. The silence was thick and heavy, and broken with a loud boom of thunder that caused all of them to jump. 

 

The three of them looked up at the same time, then over to the floor where Erica had been writing. She lifted the notepad, looking at her writing for a moment. She squinted her eyes and showed the paper to Laura, whose eyes widened a bit. She tilted her head in thought, and then pointed to a place on the paper. Erica made a small mark and then tore the paper off and handed it to Derek.

 

Derek took the paper from Erica’s hand, turning it over and reading the words printed on the paper. His eyebrows raised in faint surprise, and he asked aloud, 

 

“Who in the world is Jackson Whittemore?”


	2. A Little Bit Crazy

**15 Years Later**

 

“I’m going to look like a fucking penguin.”

 

Erica’s laugh bursts out of her like a flood, and Derek’s eyebrows cinch together in annoyance as she pulls and tugs on the sleeves of his shirt again, adjusting them under the arms of his tuxedo jacket. They’re standing in Derek’s apartment, she insisting he try on the tuxedo he had just picked up from the tailor. She walks around him, admiring the fit, tugging on the tails as she walks around the back side. She peers around him to catch his gaze in the full-length mirror he’s standing in front of.

 

“You kinda do already,” she agrees with a smirk.

 

Derek huffs at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He tugs at the tie around his neck. It feels like a noose already, and he hates it. He wishes he could rip it off, wishes he could tear the top buttons of the uncomfortable tuxedo shirt off at the same time, but it would make Paige cry if he showed up to their wedding with no tie and a torn shirt. He couldn’t understand how someone could get this worked up over the tiniest details, but he’d resigned himself to knowing that this was just how it was going to be. He couldn’t handle a crying fit from Paige, not now when he was trying desperately to convince himself that doing this whole thing wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. Adding a hysterical fiancée to the mix would not help.

 

“Hey, buck up, bestie,” Erica interrupted, playfully nudging him with her shoulder as she walked back around in front of him to readjust the tie. “Yours is only going to be the biggest fairy tale wedding Beacon Hills has ever seen. You gotta look your part, right?”

 

Derek growled under his breath. “Fairytales don’t exist, Erica.”

 

She squared in front of him, her hands on her hips. She pouted her red lips, her blonde curls tumbling as she flipped them over her shoulder. “Not even for me?”

 

He sighed at that, his crankiness crumbling a bit at the pouting look in her eyes. “Except _you_. You and Boyd seem to have missed the memo.”

 

Erica nodded at him, a grin creeping across her face. “He couldn’t resist me.”

 

Derek gave her a wry smile. “You tackled him to the ground in 6th grade and informed him he was going to marry you. You didn’t give him much choice.”

 

She smirked at him. “Of course not.” Derek returned her smile. Boyd had looked understandably surprised at Erica’s bold proclamation at the time, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that she was right. They’d officially started dating in 8th grade and hadn’t been apart since. At first glance, no one would think the stoic, serious Boyd would match at all with Derek’s fiery, vivacious best friend, but they complemented each other more than appearances would suggest, and Derek knew they were head-over-heels in love with each other.

 

She fussed with the shoulders of the jacket, sliding her hands down the front of it and giving him a satisfied look. “Now, look at yourself. The tux fits great. Smile a little. In two weeks you're supposed to have the happiest day of your life, right?”

 

He doesn’t miss the pointed look she gives him.

 

Happy days. Fairytales. File those in the same category as the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy. Nonsense that doesn’t exist. Derek has his feet firmly planted in the land of practicality, thank you very much, and he doesn’t believe in any of that stupid shit.

 

Not anymore.

 

He rolls his eyes at his former self. The dreamer, full of fantasies and childlike wonder, hoping for romance and destiny and grand adventure, like the stories his mom Talia had liked to read to him. And even after his parents had died, his sister Laura had encouraged him to keep dreaming. She continued to read him the stories that his mom had read, telling of epic loves and fate and destiny. Derek had been a romantic, and Laura encouraged it.

 

After that day in the attic, “I love Jackson Whittemore” began appearing on little pieces of paper in Derek’s room, “DH+JW=4EVER” etched into the back of his closet door. When she found one of the notes he had left on the kitchen island, Laura teased him mercilessly, as a big sister should. He pulled up a floorboard in his closet and started keeping them hidden. He didn’t care that the name belonged to a boy--he had known pretty early on that gender didn’t make much of a difference to him. He just knew that Jackson was the one he was supposed to spend the rest of his days with. It was Fate.

 

But then Laura was killed by a drunk driver when she was 19.

 

After that day, destiny went out the window. If Fate insisted on taking Laura away from him, then there was no way in Hell he was relying on Fate to determine any of his choices from that point forward. He poured all of his energy into making practical, rational decisions. He tore down everything that reminded him of Laura--including the hearts with “Derek Hale Whittemore” written on them. He punched holes in his door--Peter was pretty pissed off about it, but then again, Peter didn’t get much of a say, since he left Derek in charge of his own devices once he turned 18. He locked his heart in a vice, and threw away the key.

 

Derek had gone to design school. Worked his ass off in thankless jobs that held no meaning for him so he didn’t have to rely on anyone for tuition help. He started his own architectural design firm from the ground up, rehabbing homes in his hometown of Beacon Hills, starting with the Hale mansion that Peter had left to decay. He made himself into the man that he wanted to become: self-sufficient, reliable, steady.

 

The biggest “Fuck You” to Fate he could think of was getting together with his elementary school crush. Paige had returned to Beacon Hills after college, a bubbly sorority girl looking for a husband. She was a little boring, and she certainly didn’t make his heart flip with butterflies like the movies suggested she should, but that was fine by him. The more practical the relationship, the better in his opinion. When he had dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him, a huge smile breaking over her face, his mind only flitted to the “I <3 JW” for a brief moment before he shrugged it off. Paige would be a fine wife. Paige was _here_.

 

“Sure, Erica. Happiest day of my life.”

 

Derek tried to make it sound convincing, but the look that Erica gave him proved he had failed. It wasn’t surprising. He’d never been able to pull one past her. She’s the only one who has stood by him through the shit show that was his life, telling him more than once that “his broody ass was stuck with her” no matter what. She and her husband Boyd were his best friends, and more than once he felt a longing in his heart for the kind of romance and passion that they had for each other, before he squashed it down as stupid nonsense. That lovey-dovey shit was for other people. His perfectly fine, normal ( _boring,_ his heart whispered) life was just….fine.

 

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in the image of himself in a tuxedo. His thoughts drifted to standing in front of a church filled with people, Paige in a white dress walking towards him. Suddenly his tie felt too tight and the jacket that moments ago had felt loose and comfortable now felt like it was constricting his arms in a straitjacket. He pulled at his tie, his eyes widening and his heart beating wildly.

 

“Hey, Derek. Look at me.” Erica stood in front of him, placing her hands on his hands gently, loosening their grip. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Derek looked into her eyes, searching his own, and he felt his shoulders relax. He took a deep breath in and out, relaxing into her touch. The best part of Erica is that she _knows_. She knows how badly he wanted the romance and the destiny, but she also knows how his life fell apart. How since losing Laura, nothing makes sense anymore.

 

She squeezes his shoulders. “You don’t have to marry someone you don’t really love just to screw over Fate.”

 

Her knowing everything is also a problem. Derek gives her a challenging look. “Who says I don’t love Paige? I had a crush on her in elementary school, and now we’re getting married. It’s the fairy tale that everyone loves.” The words sound hollow in his own ears, though, and when Erica cocks an eyebrow at him, he knows that she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying.

 

But Derek is as stubborn as a bull, so Erica just shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, Derek. I love you, and I will stand by you no matter what. Just…”

 

“What?”

 

Erica took a deep breath before saying, “...don’t be in such a rush to fuck over Fate that you miss out on a chance to find something _real_.”

 

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

 

Erica gives him a contemplative look as he begins to shrug off his jacket. When the house phone rings, he shoves the jacket into her hands and steps across the room to answer it.

 

“When are you going to get an actual cell phone? I swear you’re like a cave man when it comes to technology.”

 

Derek stuck his tongue at her as he picked it up.

 

“Hello?”

 

A man’s voice cracked through the noise on the other end of the line. “Paige Krasikeva? I’m trying to reach Paige Krasikeva.”

 

“No, she isn’t home right now. Can I take a message?”

 

“Who’s this?”

 

Derek’s eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. _Rude_. “Um, this is her fiance. Who’s this?”

 

“Oh, hi. I'm an old high school friend of Paige’s. I was in town this weekend, was hoping to stop by and surprise her. But I’ve gotta catch a plane so I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and looks up to see Erica trying on his tuxedo jacket. He has to stifle the laughter as she begins waddling like a penguin. “I'm sure she'll be sorry to hear that.  Who should I tell her called?”

“My name’s--” The noise in the background swells over the man’s voice, and his name is lost. Derek’s huffs in annoyance. Erica mouths, _Who’s that?_ Derek shrugs.

“I can hardly hear you.  Could you spell that?” He tucks the phone in his shoulder and leans down to the pad of paper he keeps next to the phone. He begins writing the letters that the man on the phone is dictating. Erica waddles over and looks over Derek’s shoulder just as he drops the phone in surprise. He stands frozen, staring at the paper in his hand.

 

“Oh. My. God.”

 

“What is it, Derek?” Erica asks. He shakes himself out of his trance and shoves the piece of paper in her hand as he frantically dives to the floor in search of the phone.  Erica’s eyes bulge in shock as she reads the name on the paper just as Derek pulls the phone back up to his ear.

 

“Jackson Whittemore?!”

 

The voice on the other end of the phone crackles to life in Derek’s ear. “Right. Thanks a lot. And congratulations. It's not easy finding love these days.”

 

It registers in Derek’s brain that Jackson’s about to hang up. His brain shifts into overdrive, his mind struggling to figure out what to say, how to stop the phone call from ending.

 

“WAIT!” He yells into the phone. “Where are you?”  
  
“I’m at the airport. Why?” Jackson’s voice sounds confused.

“Uh...in case Paige wants to try to reach you.”

“Well, she'd have to hurry.  My flight leaves at four o'clock.”

 

Derek’s eyes shoot to the wall where the clock shows the time: 3:15. _He’s leaving._  
  
Panic rises into Derek’s throat. He manages to squeak out, “Where are you going?”  
  
“I'm on my way to Venice. Why?”  
  
_Because I got your name off of a Ouiji board when I was 10 and I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life?_ Derek struggles to come up with a less terrifying way to keep him on the phone. “Venice? I love Venice. With the boats, right?...”

 

Erica looks at him with a mixture of horror and amusement and shakes her head at him. _I don’t know!!_ He mouths to her as he wildly gestures at her to help him. She throws her arms out to the side as if to say, _How am I supposed to help you with this??_  
  
Jackson sounds confused. “Huh? Uh, yeah-- I've gotta run. Tell Paige hi. Maybe someday we can all get together.”

 

Derek opens his mouth to say... _what, exactly?_ When he hears the _click_ on the receiver, and he stares into the mouthpiece in shock and horror.  
  
His voice comes out in the barest of whispers. “He hung up.”

 

Derek and Erica stare at each other for a long time before she finally takes the phone out of his hands and returns it to the receiver. She looks at him with sympathy in her eyes.

 

His mind is horrifyingly blank for what feels like hours. He’s paralyzed with the weight of the moment. Then, in a rush, a loud roaring erupts in his brain, propelling his feet forward, past Erica in a rush.

 

“What-- What are you doing?”

 

“It’s fate.” Derek said resolutely, walking purposely to his bed and diving underneath it.

 

“It’s coincidence.”

 

“There’s no such thing as coincidence.” Derek’s voice was muffled for a moment before he emerged from under his bed, suitcase in hand. He turned and started throwing socks into the suitcase, Erica’s eyes widening in recognition.

 

“Five minutes ago you said there was no such thing as fate, either!”

 

“That was before!”

 

“Before what?”

 

He stops throwing socks into his bag for a moment to look at her, pointing wildly at the phone. “Before the man who I am supposed to marry called me on the fucking telephone, Erica!” he yells.

 

Erica stood across the room, shock holding her in place, frozen. Then, like talking to a wild, cornered animal, she slowly moved toward him, her hands in front of her.

 

“Derek. The woman you are engaged to marry is going to be home later tonight. Think about what you’re saying.”

 

He sees her looking at him in concern. There’s a part of his brain that knows she’s right. It’s the part of his brain that has been ruling his actions for the last 15 years. The part of his brain that eschews Fate and her mischievous dealings. The part of his brain that chooses rationality and safety and order. The _logical_ part.

 

But that part of his brain suddenly feels _wrong_ somehow. With the phone call, with the strong voice in his ear, with the confirmation of the name of Jackson Whittemore, the part of himself that he has kept locked in a vice since Laura died has suddenly burst free. It’s the part of him that embraced romantic ideals and happily-ever-afters, and it is absolutely _roaring_ in his head, telling him to take a risk on something.

 

“I just...I need to see what he looks like.” Derek continues to stuff socks into his bag.

 

“His flight leaves in 45 minutes. Even if you get to the airport on time, you’ll never get through security. He’s gone, Derek.” She looks at him with pity in her gaze.

 

“Then I’m going to Italy.”

 

A laugh bubbles out of Erica’s mouth. “Are you serious?”

 

“As a heart attack.”

 

Erica shakes her head at him, and turns back to the phone. “I need to call Paige and warn her that you’ve lost it.”

 

“Wait, no!” Derek crosses the room and takes the phone from her hand. “Erica, listen. I know that I sound insane right now. I know you probably think this is irresponsible of me, but think how much more irresponsible it would be to marry the wrong person.”

 

He stares at his best friend, willing her to understand this sudden urge of him to be...well, completely crazy. But who in his life would understand the impulse to be crazy more than his best friend? His best friend who would freely admit that _she_ is the crazy one between the two of them?

 

He takes her hand gently. “What if Paige and I aren't really meant to be? Is it fair of me to waste her life?”

 

She searched his face, and something in her gaze settles him. She nods once. “Okay, I’m with you.”

 

Derek blinks in surprise. “What?”

 

“I love you, Derek. You’re my best friend. I support you, even when I swear you were just possessed by some kind of personality-altering phone demon.” He flips her off with a smile. “But please--let me go get my stuff first.”

 

Derek’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “Why?”

 

“I’m coming with you.” He can’t help but gape at her. She sees his mouth drop, and she closes his mouth with her hand. “You’re not going over there by yourself, Derek Hale. I won’t let you get your heart squashed by some freak show who doesn’t know what’s coming.”

 

Derek’s heart swells with love for his best friend. He knew she would understand. The roaring that had been filling his brain settled down into a comforting buzz that filled him with excitement.

 

“Plus, you need help packing. You can’t go to Italy only wearing those.” She looked down at his suitcase with amusement.

 

Derek followed her gaze, and he laughed out loud when he saw his bag, overflowing with socks.

 

He looked back up at her, and she was regarding him softly. “Are you sure, Derek?”

 

His heart thrummed in his chest. He hadn’t felt this kind of excitement since he was a kid. He found himself addicted to the feeling already.

 

“Absolutely.”


	3. The Search Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...yeah. I'm totally going to go overboard with this story. The chapter count will (undoubtedly) go up from here.
> 
> Does anyone mind?
> 
> Also, please excuse my Italian. I did the shameful thing of using Google Translate. Feel free to tell me if I need to fix something.

 

 

************

 

Derek had a death-grip on the armrest between he and Erica. He was stuck tucking his long legs into the middle seat, and the man in the aisle seat had passed out about 5 minutes into the flight, so he was stuck.

 

Erica, damn her, was acting like she was as carefree as a child, bouncing around in the seat, opening and closing the window shade, fiddling with the buttons on the armrest and above their heads, chatting with the flight attendants, and generally having a grand old time.

 

Derek was sure that the plane was going to tumble into the ocean or crash into the side of a mountain at any moment. He tried to close his eyes and imagine happier times and happier places, but as one who had been generally avoiding happiness for the last ten years, it was unsurprisingly difficult to come up with anything. So he trained his eyes onto the headrest in front of him, took deep steadying breaths, and tried not to bite off Erica’s head when she asked him for the 126th time if he was doing okay.

 

Derek pulled the yearbook page out of his pocket once again. After Erica had booked the last-minute flights, he had rooted around in Paige’s old things and found her high school yearbook. He had never had cause to look at the book for Devenford Prep before--she had only attended her Senior year--but he had scoured the book looking for mentions of Jackson Whittemore. Turns out Jackson must have skipped photo day entirely, and Derek had scowled at the “Photo Not Available” box next to his name. He had found one other mention, a large photo on the lacrosse page, but he was jumping and twisting in the air--and helmeted--so it was extremely difficult to see anything at all. It didn’t matter. Derek had torn the page out of the yearbook and folded it into his pocket. Now, on the godforsaken flight, he found himself taking it out of his pocket and running his fingers gently over the photo, concentrating on the long limbs and athletic, muscular forearms.

 

Derek sighed, and he heard Erica’s chuckle.

 

“Shut up,” he growled.

 

“I’m not the one fawning over a photo of someone _whose face you can’t even see_.”

 

Derek protested. “I’m not fawning.”

 

“Ha! You have taken that photo out no less than 16 times so far this trip.”

 

“It hasn’t been that many!”

 

Erica leveled him with her gaze. “You forget who you’re talking to. I started counting. This particular instance? Number 16, babe.”

 

Derek chose to ignore her, shoving the page back into his pocket and gripping the armrests once again. Erica put her hand gently on top of his.

 

“Relax. We’re landing soon, and then the fun begins.”

 

“Fun?” Derek said disbelievingly. “We have _no idea_ where this Jackson guy is. He has an 8-hour head start on us. I’m starting to think you rubbed off on me in one of the worst ways ever. Why in the hell did I do this? Paige is probably freaking out.”

 

Erica squeezed his hand reassuringly. “She’ll be fine.”

 

“It’s two weeks before our wedding, and I disappear to Italy. How is she going to be fine?”

 

“Boyd will check up on her.”

 

“Boyd? You know he freaks her out, right?”

 

“Which...still makes zero sense. Boyd’s a teddy bear.”

 

Derek had to admit she was right. Paige’s irrational fear of Boyd was totally strange. Along with her annoyance at the plan for Erica to stand beside Derek on their wedding day. She argued really hard against that one, but Derek didn’t budge. Erica was his best friend--there was no way he was getting married without her standing there.

 

The airplane bumped and jerked and Derek’s grip on the seat tightened. God, he really had lost his mind. Jumping on a plane? Heading to a country he’d never been to before (with a language he didn’t speak)? To follow a man he knew nothing about, not even what he looked like? It’d probably be hilarious if he weren’t terrified right now.

 

At least he had Erica. She was slightly crazy, yes, but also wickedly cunning and smart. She had already contacted the tourism board, made a few calls, and somehow found out where Jackson was staying in Venice. He didn’t even want to know how she had managed that feat. There’s a reason they called her She-Wolf in the courtroom. If you got on her bad side--or had the unfortunate circumstances of being on the receiving end of her questioning--she’d tear your throat out with her teeth. But there was also no one better to have on your side, defending you or protecting you--or, apparently, gathering information for you. Derek knew how lucky he was.

 

Another jolt on the airplane tightened Derek’s grips on the armrest, and he searched for a distraction. Through clenched teeth and squeezed-shut eyes, he asked Erica, “Where are we going again when we land?”

 

“Jackson is checked into Hotel Danieli, which is only about 25 minutes from the airport. So we’ll get our luggage, fetch a taxi and then head straight there. We can check in and then scope out your true love.”

 

“Do I want to know how you got his hotel information?”

 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Erica flashed a wicked smile in his direction, which he happened to catch just before the plane began to descend and he clenched his eyes shut tight again. Erica managed to pull one of his hands from the armrest closest to her and held it between her own hands, caressing it gently. He let out a deep breath only when the wheels safely touched down and the plane rolled to a stop at the gate.

 

Derek’s heart, which he thought had disappeared during the landing entirely, started to pound again when they boarded the hotel taxi. He tried to calm it down, instead choosing to focus on the green around them, the trees, and the tiny cars. The further they went from the airport, the more the city began to unfold in front of them. He could feel his pulse returning to normal as his eyes drank in the surroundings, and his breath was stolen completely.

 

He had always been interested in traveling. Seeing the world, learning new places. But after Laura died and Peter left him to fend for himself, life had shut that door. He had gotten his passport when he turned 21, “just in case he needed it”, but it had sat it a box in his office. At design school he’d studied ancient architecture and philosophy, and now, sitting in the cab watching the life of the 1600-year-old city unfold in front of him, he felt a new kind of excitement flooding his veins. Even if he didn’t lay an eye on Jackson, he was going to take in all of the beauty and wonder of the floating city.

 

As they crossed the bridge into the oldest part of the city, Derek wondered if he had even taken a breath at all for the last 20 minutes. He realized his cheeks hurt-- _had he really been smiling this whole time?_ \--and turned to see Erica looking at him with fondness in her eyes.

 

“What?” he asked confusedly.

 

She smiled. “Happiness looks good on you.”

 

He felt himself blush, the tips of his ears turning red, and he turned his head away. He heard Erica’s chuckle behind him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder for a moment before the taxi slowed to a stop.

 

“ _Prendi il taxi d’acqua da qui._ ” The taxi driver exited the car and retrieved their bags, Derek looking around in confusion before following the driver out of the car. Erica had grabbed her phone out of her bag and was typing furiously. They followed the driver around the back of the car, where he had deposited their bags on the cobblestone street. He gestured to the canal next to the road. “ _Taxi d’acqua._ ”

 

Derek followed his gesture to the small boat that waited just below the street level, a sign with _Hotel Danieli_ marking the way. The afternoon sun was getting lower on the horizon, throwing an orange glow that jumped and bobbed with the movement across the water, and Derek couldn’t help the breathy _oh_ that escaped his lips at the sight. He grabbed a few bills from his wallet, handed them to the driver, and began rolling his bag across the road.

 

“Wait up, Der!” Erica sounded from behind him. He turned back to her and grabbed her extra bag, tucking it under his arm.

 

“You know we’re only going to be here a few days, right? What in the world did you pack?” he said exasperatedly, gesturing to the three other bags she was carrying.

 

“I believe in being _prepared_ , Hale. Which is why I downloaded the Italian translator to my phone. He said we have to take the water taxi to the hotel.”

 

Derek nodded in the direction of the boat. “Yeah, I gathered that from the sign.”

 

“Or that works, too,” Erica grinned.

 

They trekked across the street, Erica grunting slightly under the weight of her bags.

 

“Hotel Danieli?” Derek asked the man at the gate.

 

“ _Si, entra_.”

 

The taxi driver grabbed the bags from Derek, who grabbed Erica’s bags in turn, and they boarded the boat. It pushed away from the dock, and Derek once again got lost in his surroundings as they made their way to the hotel.

 

The city that unfolded around him was an architectural dream. He found himself at a loss for words as he tried to follow the alleyways, the bridges that passed overhead, the lack of right angles in a city slowly sinking.

 

All too soon, they arrived at the hotel, and as they thanked the driver and disembarked, the tall wooden doors of Hotel Danieli calling to them from across the street.

 

Erica’s voice sounded over Derek’s shoulder, “I am so excited for a shower. And _food_.” Derek’s stomach rumbled at just the right time, and Erica laughed. “Let’s go, lover boy.”

 

Derek wondered whether his stomach could actually feel hunger with all the butterflies that seemed to be in there, beating a crazed rhythm. He followed Erica, noting that she had left him with a couple of her extra bags as she strolled into the hotel with just her purse and a rolling bag.

 

“Thanks, Erica!” he called after her, and she waved snarkily over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the hotel.

 

By the time Derek struggled with the luggage into the hotel lobby, Erica was walking back towards him with two keys and a wide grin on her face.

 

“Mr. Whittemore has already checked out.” Derek sputtered, ready to interrupt, but Erica held one of her long-nailed fingers up, indicating to Derek for silence. “But. He is having dinner tonight at Il Ridotto Restaurant at 7:30, which is three blocks away from here.”

 

Derek gaped at her. “How in the world did you manage that?”

 

She winked at him and held up a key card. “Aren’t you glad I’m on _your_ side? Now, let’s go upstairs, relax for a bit, and get cleaned up”

 

She breezed past him and into a waiting elevator, and Derek couldn’t help but stumble after her.

 

They had a couple of hours before dinner, so Derek tried to relax. He hadn’t gotten much (or _any_ ) sleep on the plane, but when he tried to lay down, the butterflies and the pounding heartbeat reminded him of what he was doing here, and he knew that sleep was never going to happen. Instead, he took a long, hot shower, washing the staleness from the day of travel off of his skin. He had just finished pulling on his jeans and was pulling a t-shirt over his head when the door to his room burst open, a toweled Erica breezing in and bringing him up short.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Hale,” she scolded him. “This is a five-star restaurant you are taking me to, you are not going to it looking like you’re headed to a football match.” She strode purposefully to his bag, pulling out black pants, black jacket, and a white button-down. “You’re wearing this. And the black shoes I stuffed into the front pocket.” She looked at him pointedly. “Iron the shirt before you put it on.”

 

After she threw the clothes onto his bed, she turned and stalked out of the room.

 

As the door was closing, he gathered his senses enough to yell after her, “Why do you need a key to my room, too?”

 

An hour later, he was knocking on Erica’s door with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity along with an undercurrent of excitement. The dichotomy of the feeling had him off-kilter, but he tried taking deep breaths to steady himself. It was only mildly working.

 

Erica opened the door, and she gave him an appraising once-over. “Not bad, Hale. You clean up real nice.” She stepped toward him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Then she lifted her hands to his collar and unbuttoned the top button.

 

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Reyes,” Derek replied. She looked amazing in a long, sleek black dress, her hair curled over one shoulder, and her bold red lips pulled back into a confident smile.

 

“I know.” She finished fixing his shirt, smoothing down his jacket and giving him a final look. Then her expression turned serious when her eyes traveled back up his body and locked with his own. “He’d be crazy not to fall head-over-heels in love with you.”

 

Derek smiled a shy smile. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

 

He turned and offered her his arm, and she took it with a smile.

 

The restaurant was only a few blocks from the hotel, and they navigated their way through the evening crowds, admiring the moonlight that shimmered off the water and the voices of the gondoliers taking tourists on evening tours around the city. Derek tried to ready himself, tried to figure out what he was going to say, how he was going to introduce himself to the man whose initials had been on his heart and mind since he was a kid, but he was coming up blank. The only thing that kept him grounded were the click of his shoes on the cobblestones, the dig of Erica’s nails in the crook of his arm, the slight breeze that came off the water and ruffled his hair in the moonlight.

 

Soon enough, they arrived at the restaurant, and Derek looked around at the crowd of people, wondering if one of them could be _him_ , and a feeling of nausea overwhelmed him, He grabbed Erica’s arm.

 

“Let's get a drink.”

 

They took a seat at the bar. As Erica ordered some liquid courage, Derek looked around at the different tables, scanning the room. He felt the anticipation swelling within him, and it froze him to the spot. He felt Erica’s eyes on him, and he looked over at her.

 

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask the maître d' if he’s here?”

 

The thing is, the answer was _yes_. He was going to. It’s why they came here. But now, when he’s potentially sitting in the same room as his destiny, he couldn’t make the synapses fire between his brain and his feet. He felt frozen in place, and the only thing with any ability to move were his eyes, which scanned the restaurant back and forth, back and forth.

 

Erica placed her hand on Derek’s shoulder gently, and it felt like a shock for how he jumped in surprise. “Derek? You look like a creeper. Go ask the maître d'.”

 

Derek sat up a little straighter. “I sort of...wanted to wait to see if….maybe he’d notice me first?”

 

Erica rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve travelled over six thousand miles, and now you’re gonna play hard to get?”

 

Derek huffed in response, and stood up, only to get the overwhelmed feeling again, causing him to sit down and grab Erica’s hand. His voice was quiet and embarrassed. “Will you do it, please? I swear, I won’t ask you do do anything else, just...please?” He looked at her with the puppy-dog pleading eyes that he knew she had no will to resist.

 

Erica rolled her eyes at him. “God, you’re hopeless.”

 

She stood up and strode across the room to the maître d'. Derek didn’t want to watch her, the nerves bubbling over, so when the bartender brought the drinks that Erica had ordered, he downed his in one gulp.

 

“Easy, tiger. Don’t wanna get all liquored up when you meet your lover boy.”

 

Derek froze and his breath caught in his throat. “What?” he managed to strangle out.

 

“He’s heeerrre,” she teased.

 

Derek looked up from his drink to Erica’s face, who was smiling and nodding.

 

Derek started looking around nervously. “Oh my God. Where?”

“Take it easy,” Erica soothed. Her eyes moved above Derek’s shoulder, and it took everything he had not to spin around in his seat. “He’s sitting in the fourth booth down, on the left hand side, with his back to us. He’s wearing a navy jacket. And if you turn around, you can see part of his right elbow.”

 

  
Derek’s eyes widened, and Erica nodded. Derek slowly turned in his seat, and counted the booths, his eyes coming to rest on a sleeved elbow poking out of the end of a booth. The excitement bubbled out of him, and he whipped back to Erica, unable to contain his glee.

 

“Oh, my God, I see his sleeve!”

 

Erica snorted in laughter. “What are you, twelve?”

 

He stuck his tongue out at her before looking back over his shoulder. “I guess I should go over and introduce myself, huh?”

 

Erica only mumbled a _mmm_ in response.

 

Derek stood up, Erica’s eyes widening. He pulled on his jacket, smoothing down the shirt underneath. “Right...okay. Umm...you don’t think he’s going to think I’m coming off as too aggressive, do you?”

 

Erica wrapped her fingers around his jacket lapel, grinning at him with affection. “Derek, you’ve trailed the man halfway around the globe. I don’t think another fifteen feet is going to make much difference.”

She released his jacket, patting him on the chest. “Go get him, tiger.”

 

He took a deep breath, and turned toward where Jackson was seated. After a step or two, he had a sudden realization. _Erica_. He turned back to her, where she had been watching his halting progress. “Erica, you’re going to be okay, right?”

 

She looked at him pointedly. “Derek?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Good luck.”

 

She winked at him, and gestured him onward. He smiled gratefully at her, then took a deep breath and turned back. _Okay, this is it._ He began striding purposely for the booth where Jackson was seated. He found that if he focused only on the blue-sleeved arm, then his heartbeat didn’t pound quite so hard in his ears. It made the weight of this moment easier to bear. The moment that he had been dreaming about since he was ten. He wished he could see more of the man he was going to meet--his hair, his neck, anything, but the sleeve was there, just a few feet away, coming more and more into focus, and there was nothing in between him and destiny…

 

...except the waiter with the enormous tray of pasta that suddenly appeared directly in front of him. He tried to avoid it, but in an incredible moment, the loaded tray of dishes was in front of him, and then...it wasn’t. Instead, there was a cacophony of dishes smashing and breaking, and then dead silence. Derek stared down at his feet where he had pasta covering his shoes and some splashed onto his legs, and he felt every eye in the restaurant trained on him. He refused to look up, refused to have this be the moment that he sees his destiny for the first time, so with a faint whine, he turned and walked briskly to the restroom, trying not to slip on the floor from his tomato sauce-covered Oxfords.

 

He frantically used every towel in the restroom he could grab, trying to clean up the mess as best as he could so he could get back out there and meet his destiny. Satisfied with what could only be described as a mild attempt at mess management, he pushed his way out of the restroom, nearly running into Erica in the process. He heard her say something to him, but it didn’t register as he blew by her, his mind singularly focused on getting back to that fourth booth--only to stop short in horror when he noticed: the booth now stood empty.

 

Derek whipped around to Erica, who was right behind him, and dismay flooded her features as she, too, realized that Jackson had gone. Her eyes immediately scanned the restaurant, and she pointed past Derek to the front door.

 

“There!”

 

Derek turned just in time to see a man in a blue jacket leaving the restaurant. Derek dodged the piles of pasta and the wait staff that was scrambling to clean up the mess on the floor, and stumbled out into the street, Erica close behind.

 

Suddenly, the pleasant crowd that he and Erica had woven through earlier in the evening felt like an oppressive mass in Derek’s mind. Suddenly there were a thousand people between he and Jackson. He scanned the crowd again, looking for the tell-tale blue jacket, when suddenly he spots him, walking around a corner. He started to chase him, weaving in and out of people, but his feet kept slipping on the cobblestones, the sauce from the pasta giving him zero traction. When he moved through the crowd and found a small amount of space, he leaned against the building and quickly removed his shoes one at a time. Erica would kill him later-- _oh god, where’s Erica?_ \--but he had to catch up, and he’ll never be able to do that if he was sliding around like a figure skater. He tossed the shoes off behind him, hearing a faint _hey!_ , but he ignored it, standing again and chasing the blue jacket that he had lost sight of momentarily.  The crowd seemed even thicker now, the throng of people hurrying to the boats at the end of the day making his task even harder.

 

Derek felt his heart pounding as he quickly roamed the cobblestone streets. He registered that he should probably feel badly for the way he kept absentmindedly running into people, his shoes forgotten. He probably looked like a crazy person, and to be honest, he felt a little like one. After what felt like forever, he found himself in an empty alleyway, breathless, shoeless, and hopeless.

 

He had lost him.

 

Derek felt his eyes begin to prickle. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but here he was, in an alleyway in Venice, about to cry over the loss of something he never really had in the first place. Before the tears could fall, he decided to try to find Erica, and his shoes.

 

It didn’t take long. Only a block away, he found her walking his direction, and a tear finally fell when he saw her with one of his shoes dangling from her finger.

 

“I found one,” she said sympathetically.

 

He shuffled over to her, and she guided him to a nearby bench, where they sat together and he began to put his solitary shoe back on.

 

“Well, no one can say we didn’t try,” Erica soothed, her hand resting on his back.

 

Derek felt himself begin to slide into his logical side, the one that shut out Fate, the one that he had worn like armor for so many years. Only now, it felt too tight and constricting. Like, who he had been over the last two days had filled him and stretched him, and his old familiar attitude didn’t fit anymore. He found himself not wanting to give up. He found himself thinking of what he could do. Jackson couldn’t be that far away. They had been 20 feet from each other tonight, he couldn’t have gone too far. The excitement built up within him until he felt it approaching madness, and he turned to Erica suddenly.

 

“Okay, how about this? He can’t be very far away. I only missed him by a few minutes. So we set up a loudspeaker or a megaphone, right? And we get on one of these water taxis that goes around the city, and we page him!”

 

Erica stared at him in stunned silence. Her eyes were wide, and Derek could tell that she had no idea what to say, but the idea of this plan was running through his mind, and he could see it working. He could see the moment play out in his mind like a movie. He would shout Jackson’s name around the city, and then he would hear him yell, “I’m here!” and he would pull the water taxi over and they would run towards each other--

 

“--Excuse me? Is this yours?”

 

Derek was wrenched from his thoughts by a soft voice. He turned to see a man standing in front of him, holding Derek’s other shoe.

 

“Oh, thank you.” He reached out to take the shoe, but the man knelt down in front of him.

 

“Allow me.”

 

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together as he realized: _The guy was putting his shoe back on his foot like he’s fucking Cinderella._ He watched in confusion as the man in front of him tugged on his sock a bit before sliding his foot inside the Oxford. Derek found himself momentarily distracted by the obscenely long fingers that were deftly tying the laces, before he shook himself out of his thoughts and turned back to Erica.

 

“So, what do you think?”

 

Erica was watching the kneeling man with amusement, and she smiled a charmed smile at him when he finished tying Derek’s shoe.

 

Erica cocked an eyebrow at Derek, nodding her head toward the helpful man. “That was kind of sweet, right?”

 

Derek blinked. “I meant, what did you think of my idea?”

 

Erica looked at Derek with care. “Well, I think it’s time we get some professional help.”

 

“Like, from a detective?”

 

“Like from a psychiatrist.”

 

Derek blinked. “How’s a psychiatrist going to help us find him?”

 

A snort erupted from the man who--for some reason--was still kneeling in front of Derek. Derek turned to look at him, and he felt his heart stop. Because, _oh my god,_ the man in front of him had the most incredible eyes that Derek had ever seen. Laura would have called them “story eyes”--eyes that were so deep that you could get lost in them looking for the stories they held. Derek could look at those eyes all night.

 

But then the man spoke.

 

“Oh my god, aren’t you just the most adorable thing?”

 

Derek frowned in annoyance and huffed out loud. “I’m not adorable. I’m looking for someone.”

 

“Oh, really? I’m excellent at finding people. I can help you look.”

 

“What? No!” Derek was annoyed at himself for how childish his voice sounded right now. But this guy--the one with the incredible story eyes--was rubbing him the wrong way. Like he could help. At all. He looked at Erica, but she was staring between the two of them with a look that could only be described as _gleeful_.

 

Derek saw the man turn to Erica. “So, what’s the deal with your man here?”

 

She smiled at him. “Apparently he thinks he can sail the canals of Venice with a bullhorn, paging the man of his dreams.”

 

The man rolled his eyes in disbelief. “No really. What’s he doing?”

 

Derek moved to defend himself, but Erica cut him off. “ _Seriously_. He thinks the man of his dreams is here. Even though he’s never met him, even though he’s never laid eyes on him.”

 

Derek _did_ interrupt this time. “I did see him.”

 

Erica leveled him with her don’t-fuck-with-me look. “You saw his _sleeve_.”

 

“Well, that’s something,” the man replied.

 

Derek stood up, moving past the man, looking around for a store or something where he could buy a bullhorn. _Where can you buy bullhorns in Venice at this time of night?_

 

He could hear the man and Erica standing behind him, talking.

 

“So, if he’s never met this guy, what makes him think he's perfect for him? Were they pen pals?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did they meet on Twitter?”

 

“God, no.”

 

“Is he some kind of celebrity or something?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did he do some anonymous good deed for him?”

 

Derek heard Erica sigh. “He got his name off of a Ouija board when he was ten.”

 

There’s silence, and Derek squeezes his eyes shut. When he and Erica had been chasing this by themselves, it sounded like a fun adventure. But when he heard it said out loud to a stranger, well….it just sounded crazy.  Maybe he _was_ crazy.

 

“Alright, what’s his name?”

 

At that, Derek whirled around. “No.” The last thing he wanted was Story Eyes knowing any more of his ridiculous quest. He just wanted to go back to the hotel and curl up and die of embarrassment.

 

The man pressed on. “Oh, come on! I’m _really_ good at finding people! I speak a little Italian, I have a friend at the Embassy. Maybe we could--”

 

“--No. I don’t need any help.”

 

“Just...what's his name?  I'll look into it for you. I could give you a call.”  
  
  
Derek grabbed Erica’s hand and started walking with her back towards the hotel. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but--”  
  
  
The man jumped in front of the two of them, stopping them short. He pleaded, “Just tell me his name…”  
 

Erica raised her eyebrows at Derek again, and he swore he was going to nail them down. Those damn eyebrows have done nothing but judge him silently all night. The expectant look she was giving him was downright annoying at this point. Derek turned back to the man, who is-- _jesus_ \--using those eyes to their full, pleading potential.  
 

He sighed. _Fine_ . Anything at this point to get him to go away.  “Jackson Whittemore.”  
  
  
The man blinked a couple of times, then stood upright, looking back and forth between Derek and Erica.  
 

“But...that’s-- _I’m_ Jackson Whittemore.”  
 

Derek stood, shocked. _No way._ _There’s no way that this is the guy from the restaurant._ But for the very first time, he took a moment and actually _looked_ at the man in front of him. Derek scanned his eyes over the man’s frame. He was tall and thin. He was wearing a blue button down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. He had on slim fit pants-- _and he had a blue blazer tucked over his arm_.  
  


_Oh, shit._

 


	4. Love at First Sight

 

****************

No way.

No _fucking_ way.

The man who was kneeling in front of him—the one who had gone all Prince Charming on him with his shoe earlier— _that guy_ is Jackson Whittemore? Derek was sure his brain was short-circuiting. Like, all functional thought had just flown out into the canals and was drowning right now.

He just kept staring at the jacket, and rewinding over the night to make sure he wasn’t missing something. The man in the restaurant was wearing a blue jacket. The man in front of him has a blue jacket over his arm. The man in the restaurant was named Jackson Whittemore. The man kneeling in front of him’s name is Jackson Whittemore. He’s been waiting for Jackson Whittemore his entire life. Jackson Whittemore was kneeling in front of him right now.

 _No fucking way_.

“Derek.”

Derek had been so focused on the jacket, he didn’t really look at the rest of him, so he finally ventured to slide his eyes from Jackson’s arm, where the jacket was resting, to the rest of him.

And again, he says, _no fucking way._

Because this guy? Is sex-on-a-stick-gorgeous. How did he not notice that earlier with the shoe thing? Derek hated to objectify men, especially since he had been objectified himself more than once and it made him uncomfortable on the best days, but he could certainly appreciate that Jackson has been put together in the most perfect of ways. His eyelashes—the story eyes had distracted him from them earlier—just seemed to go on for days. His cheekbones and jawline looked like they could cut glass. And his mouth. Oh, man. His mouth was something else entirely. He found himself mapping it out with his eyes, taking in the curves and dips until he was sure he could draw it perfectly.

“Derek!”

This man is what Derek’s dreams were made of. Lean body, impossibly beautiful eyes, those lips...Derek’s mind began to wander about what he could do with those lips when a smack on the back of his head jolted him out of his thoughts.

“ _Derek_!”

“What?” he asked Erica aggravatingly.

“I’ve said your name five times.”

Derek looked at her in surprise, and she had her eyebrows raised, knowingly.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I...uh…” Derek tried to answer, but he chose that moment to look back at Jackson who was staring back at him and _oh god he just licked his bottom lip with his tongue that should be illegal, seriously_ , and all thought was lost. Again.

Derek tore his gaze away from Jackson’s mouth and looked into his eyes again, which turned out to be a mistake. Because Jackson had, apparently, been looking at him the whole time and now had a fucking smirk on his face at catching him staring at his mouth.

 _Shit_.

Derek stood up quickly, rubbing his hands on his pants, because they suddenly felt like they had been dunked in the waters of the Mediterranean for how clammy they had become. Jackson followed him and stood up, as well. There were a couple of moments of tensioned silence as they both continued to stare at each other, the electricity in the air building with each passing second. The tension was cut with Erica’s throat-clearing noise.

“Well, this has been a lovely evening, but I’m going to head back to my room now.”

Derek saw Jackson blink a couple of times and then turned to give Erica his full attention. He threw out his right hand to hers for a handshake, which she took, holding on for one of her patented Erica Intimidation Tactics.

“Jackson, it has been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise, Ms…?”

“Boyd. Erica Boyd.”

“Ms. Boyd, it has been a pleasure. I have no doubt that you’ll be monitoring your friend carefully for the next several hours and will have zero problem chopping off my balls and feeding them to me if anything should happen to your friend here.”

They’re still shaking hands, and Jackson smirked pointedly. He said it so nonchalantly that Derek’s eyes widened and he choked a little, and he heard Erica laugh, a full-throated cackle that he only heard when Isaac, her paralegal, did something unintentionally funny.

“I appreciate your attention to detail, Mr. Whittemore. I see we understand each other,” she nodded in tandem with Jackson, and released his hand with a smile. “These canals close in less than an hour. There’s only so many places you could hide before dawn.”

Jackson shrugged. “I’d recommend weighing me down and dumping me in the canal. Less evidence.”

“Noted.” Erica turned to Derek. “You call me if you need anything, okay?”

He’s still in a daze when he nodded his head in agreement. He felt Erica press a kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear, “I like him already,” before sliding off, headed back to the hotel.

Derek wanted to run after her, to beg her to come back and be his safety net. He doesn’t know how to do this. Paige was so easy ( _read:_ _boring and not at all sexually charged_ , his subconscious whispers again), but Derek could tell that Jackson was nothing like Paige, not even a little bit, and he’s terrified of acting like an idiot and screwing this up. Because fate had brought them together, and _damn it_ if Jackson Whittemore wasn’t the most perfect thing that Derek had ever seen?

“Would you...like to take a walk?” Jackson asked cautiously.

“Umm...yes.”

Jackson stuck out his elbow and Derek looked at it for a moment. He kind of wanted to bolt. This was nothing that he had any experience with, and he was terrified. But he heard Erica’s voice in his head— _a chance to find something real_ —and he knew this was a chance. He had to take it. He’s in Italy for it, after all. Jackson’s eyebrow was cocked, his eyes looking at him expectantly—but also with a glimmer of nervousness?—and there was an audible exhale from him as Derek took his outstretched arm.

There’s a companionable silence for a few moments as they walked along the street that was becoming less and less crowded. They passed an older woman holding a basket of flowers, a woman who looked like she’d had better days than standing on this street corner for hours on end. Jackson pulled away for a moment to talk to her. Derek heard him speaking in Italian, and Derek was suitably ruffled by it. Italian sounded sexy, no matter what, but hearing the words roll so effortlessly out of Jackson’s mouth? Definitely a turn-on.

“ _Tre_ Euro?” he heard Jackson exclaim.

 _Oh, god._ He was haggling with this old woman over the price of something. Suddenly Derek realized: he didn’t know this man at all. He could be a horrible person—may actually be proving right now that he _was_ a horrible person—arguing with a woman on the street over a few Euros. Derek wanted to melt into the street. He was beginning to look around, trying to determine which way his hotel was, when he heard Jackson continue speaking with the old woman.

“No, no tre Euro. _Cinque_ Euro, non di meno.”

The old woman smiled genuinely at him. “Grazie, signore.”

Derek saw Jackson hand the woman a bill, and Derek’s eyes widened in surprise as Jackson turned back to him and handed him a red rose. Derek flushed. Here he thought Jackson was being a grade-A douchebag, when he was actually being...incredibly sweet. He lifted the rose and took a deep inhale, the sweet and spicy scent giving him flashbacks to the garden that he used to keep with Laura, a long time ago. It’s a sweet and sad memory at the same time, and it made Derek wistful. He looked up at Jackson, who was looking at him with warmth in his gaze, and looking in his eyes Derek was aware enough to realize: he could fall _so hard_ for this man.

Jackson held his arm out once more, and as Derek took it, the old woman spoke to them.

“Amore a prima vista, eh?”

Jackson looked into Derek’s eyes again, his gaze searching. Derek felt his face flushing again under the intensity of it.

“Penso di sì,” Jackson said to her, nodding.

She smiled and nodded at them as they started walking again.

Derek looked at Jackson, who was wearing a shy smile. “What’d she say?”

“She’s an astute old woman, that’s all,” he said with a smile.

They walked along the cobblestone streets, winding around alleyways and over bridges, Derek continually marvelling at the beauty of the ancient city. He wondered if they should be talking, but he had never felt this comfortable _not_ talking before. With his hand tucked into the crook of Jackson’s arm, Derek felt...safe. Like, this was exactly where he was supposed to be right now. He turned to let Jackson know.

“Isn’t it amazing—-” Derek started.

“—Do you ever wonder—-” Jackson turned and said at the exact same time.

They both stopped, looking at each other with wide eyes, grins appearing on their face as they chuckled with embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jackson apologized quickly. “You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

Derek’s eyes must have registered surprise, because Jackson continued his rambling, his hands punctuating his words with erratic...well, _flailing_. What he was doing with his hands could only be described as flailing.

“—You’re just...so _incredibly_ gorgeous—”

_Wait, what?_

“—and I’m so incredibly nervous, and I’ve never seen anyone as attractive as you give me even the remotest time of day before, and do you think this is because of the Ouija board thing, because I’m pretty sure that some kind of supernatural force must have brought us together for you to look at me the way you looked at me when I put your shoe on back there—”

Derek was sure he was staring, which was probably only making the reactions from Jackson worse, but he just couldn’t help it. Jackson was just...so fucking pretty. And so stinking adorable with his rambling. He was having a hard time believing that no one had looked at him in a romantic way before, because, well _look at him_. His hands were wild and his cheeks were flushed and his eyelashes were brushing on his cheekbones, and Derek just couldn’t even believe he was here right now.

Before he could even stop himself, Derek reached out and gently pinched Jackson’s upper arm. It wasn’t a rough pinch, but it was enough to derail Jackson’s rambling.

“What—?”

Derek did it again, smiling, and Jackson took a step back. Derek released a nervous chuckle as he stepped forward and gently pinched him again.

“What’s that for?” Jackson asked, a slight laugh leaving him as Derek hit an apparent ticklish spot.

“I just need to see...you’re real, right?” Derek asked him. “I’m not in a dream, am I? You’re here.”

Jackson’s eyes softened as he lookeds\ at Derek’s face, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip for a quick moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

The moment felt electrically charged again. Derek sensed it between the two of them, wondering if the crackling sparks that he felt could be seen by outsiders. The way that Jackson was looking back at him, he thought that he could feel it, too. It was too much almost, and Derek had to break the gaze, taking in deep breaths and continuing to walk down the street which was nearly empty now, save for a few couples here and there.

“There’s a quote from a Shakespeare play I’m trying to remember,” Jackson said, walking quickly to catch up, “and it’s about two people who have just met for the first time, and have this intense connection to each other, but it’s almost like it’s forbidden...”

Derek heard Jackson rambling again, but his mind was immediately transported back to summer days with Laura, lying in the backyard at Peter’s house, quoting sonnets and lines from Shakespeare plays to each other. They memorized entire acts of his plays together, whiling away the time in the summer heat.

He heard Jackson continuing, “It goes something like, ‘And yet I wish—”

Derek quietly interrupted, moving forward so he was standing only a breath away from those gorgeous eyes. “—wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep. The more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.”

Derek’s ears were on fire. He never thought he would be this bold in his entire life. The electricity between them was positively buzzing right now. Jackson was looking at him with wide, surprised eyes, his mouth slightly agape, and Derek heard him whisper, “Wow.”

He felt Jackson leaning in toward him, and suddenly it was too much, too soon. Derek cleared his throat, and Jackson pulled back with a small chuckle. Derek fiddled with the rose in his hand while he searched for something to break the tension. “That’s from _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Jackson blinked a few times, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s right. I guess I should’ve remembered that one. Only the most famous Shakespearen play. Star-crossed lovers and all.”

“My sister and I used to read it out loud to each other during the summers. We’d put on our own performances. She always made me be Juliet. I think she just wanted to use the sword.”  He flourished the rose like a sword the way Laura used to. The memory of it makes him smile.

“You two are close,” Jackson said, fondly.

“Yeah, we were. She always made me laugh. She could do about a million voices, so she usually ended up playing all of the other parts and I’d be stuck being Juliet all the time. But she was so good at it. I’d get stitches in my side from laughing so hard.” He hadn’t talked about Laura in...well, in a _really_ long time. Talking about her usually just hurt. But for some reason, it didn’t this time. It just felt...good. In a way that it hadn’t felt good to talk about her before. He wasn’t sure what had come over him.

He looked up to see Jackson looking at him softly. “Sounds like she was an incredible sister.”

“She was. I miss her a lot. She…” Derek took a deep breath and steeled himself. “She was killed when I was eighteen.”

Jackson looked at him with genuine concern. “Killed?”

“By a drunk driver,” Derek shrugged. “It’s been a long time. I haven’t talked about it very much.” Derek shook his head a bit. “Not really sure why I’m talking about it now, really. You’re a complete stranger.”

“Well, apparently you’ve known about me for a long time.” Jackson teased gently.

“I had your name carved into my door.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Derek wished he could take them back. _I can’t believe I just admitted that_ , he thought with horror.

His eyes must have registered his feelings, because Jackson just laughed. “That’s amazing.”

The laugh that Jackson emitted is full and threw his head back, his long neck exposed. Derek’s stomach swooped at the sight of it. _Whoa—Paige had never caused my stomach to do that_ , he acknowledged.

They continued walking, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Derek’s hand was tucked into the elbow of Jackson’s arm again, and he loved the feel of the warmth beneath his fingers. The streets were very nearly empty now, the tourists gone for the night, and the only people out and about were locals closing up their shops for the day.

“I’m an only child,” Derek heard Jackson say quietly. “My mom and dad wanted to have more kids, but my mom got sick.”

Derek looked carefully at the other man, whose eyes were staring into the distance, as if remembering. “She was my world. My dad worked a lot, so she taught me how to cook and how to ride my bike and drive a stick. I still have the rusty Jeep she owned. It barely runs, but she also taught me the value of duct tape, so she’s held together over time.” His eyes blinked, breaking his trance, and he looked up at Derek. “She died when I was nine.”

So young. Derek’s heart broke at the picture that he just painted. “My parents died when I was five, so I don’t remember them as well as you probably remember her. I’m sorry.”

Jackson’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry about your parents. And your sister.” He took a deep breath and continued walking. “My dad’s great. He and I are really close. I actually owe him a phone call soon, or he’ll send an APB out on me.” At Derek’s questioning look, he added, “He’s a sheriff.”

They arrived at a nearly-empty St. Mark’s Square. It was a tourist throng during the day, but now, when the shops were closed and the cafes shut down for the night, it was just...peaceful. They walked along the patterned markings on the ground, stopping to crane their necks up to see St. Mark’s Bell Tower.

“You’ve heard the phrase, ‘Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice?’”

“Yeah,” Derek said.

“It’s a myth. This tower has been struck by lightning so many times that it actually collapsed in 1902. Killed the caretaker’s cat.”

“Hmm…” Derek said, not really sure where Jackson was going with this.

“You’d think the city would tear it down,” he continued. “But even though disaster hit, and destroyed it, the tower still stands beautifully. It may look a little bit different than it used to. But it’s still strong. Still important to all of the other buildings around it.”

Derek barely moved, afraid to break the sanctity of the moment. Jackson wasn’t just talking about the building. Even though they’d only known each other for a few hours, the other man just seemed to _know_. He knew how Derek had suffered, but also how Derek had managed to pick his pieces back up and keep going. And, it appeared, that he’d had to do the same in his own life. Jackson lowered his gaze to lock on Derek.

“Sounds like a couple of people I know.” He did that beautiful small grin that set Derek’s heart skipping again.

There was a lone violinist playing in the courtyard, the music reverberating around the walled space like a perfect, acoustic dream. It was something that could never happen during the day with the cacophony of tourists and hawkers and birds. They stood looking at each other for a moment before Derek smiled as he recognized the song.

If the Derek from two weeks ago had heard it, he would have rolled his eyes and legitimately growled in annoyance. But this Derek? The one with a gorgeous man next to him and the streets of Venice under his feet? This Derek wasn’t at all surprised to hear “Some Enchanted Evening” being played on a violin right now.

Jackson walked out to towards the musician, and Derek followed. When they were closer to the music, he stopped and held out his hand. Derek could see it was shaking a little bit—with nervousness? With anticipation?

“Can I have this dance?” Jackson asked quietly, a small grin bringing out a dimple that Derek hadn’t noticed before. Derek didn’t think he could form words right now, so he nodded in agreement, and Jackson’s small grin broke into a full-wattage smile that nearly knocked him over. His breath caught as their hands clasped and Jackson wrapped his other arm around his lower back, his hand spanned underneath his jacket, and slowly pulled him in close. Derek’s face gently pressed into the side of Jackson’s cheek, and as his own heart pounded, he felt Jackson’s deep exhale escape across his neck, making goosebumps erupt there.

This kind of thing didn’t happen to him. These grand, sweeping romantic moments were reserved for Nora Ephron movies, not for architects from tiny towns in California. But as the violin played, and he swayed back and forth to the music in the arms of this almost-complete stranger, he felt like the puzzle pieces of his life that had been lost with Laura’s death were being gently pieced back together by fate. Like everything was falling into place exactly as it was meant to be. Swaying in Jackson’s arms, fitting so perfectly under his palms and tucked into his shoulder, was the last piece of the puzzle, and if he stepped back he would see how everything in his life had led up to this moment.

The violinist finished the song, and Jackson fished another bill out of his pocket, handing it to the artist with a _grazie_. He held out his hand to Derek, who gave a small grin before grasping it and lacing their fingers together.

It was like a match had been struck where their hands were connected. A fire began to spread up his arm and through the rest of his body, starting from the contact points on his hand. He felt his heartbeat increase, and his breathing shallowed.  He’d never had a reaction like this from anyone before. It felt raw and powerful, exciting and a little bit terrifying. How could something so new be so strong?

He felt Jackson’s eyes on him, and turned to see the other man’s mouth parted, shallow breaths drawn in and out. Derek couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the other man’s mouth.

“Tell me you feel that, too,” Jackson said huskily.

Derek swallowed hard, his mouth devoid of all moisture, and he nodded, humming his agreement.

Jackson’s free hand hesitantly lifted to rest gently on Derek’s cheek. His eyes darted back and forth between Derek’s, as if searching for the answer to the question he couldn’t seem to ask.

Derek doesn’t do _this_ . He doesn’t make impulsive decisions. He doesn’t walk hand-in-hand with a man he just met and dance to romantic music. But nothing, absolutely _nothing_ felt wrong about this. He saw Jackson’s tongue dart out of his mouth again, rubbing over his bottom lip. From this close, Derek could see that it was chapped. His own tongue mirrored the actions of the other man, and he heard Jackson’s breath hitch.

Derek’s head was swimming, but one thought rose to the surface. _Just once._ _I need to kiss him just once_.

He leaned in toward Jackson, who met him halfway, and their lips pressed together softly at first, their noses bumping gently together. After a moment, Derek felt Jackson pull back, and so he pulled back in return, his eyebrows raising in alarm.

_Oh, god. Was that not okay?_

Jackson’s eyes were rapidly drifting back and forth between his own, searching and searching, his hand still resting on Derek’s cheek, his thumb drifting back and forth. Derek’s hands were resting on Jackson’s chest— _when did they do that?_ —and they just stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Derek heard Jackson release a loud exhale and his other hand drifted up to hold his other cheek, and Derek couldn’t hold back the shuddered breath he released. He gripped Jackson’s shirt in his hands and pulled him forward again, and then they were _kissing._ Not tentative kisses, but kisses that stole every breath out of Derek’s body and sent goosebumps up and down his arms. He heard a soft whimper released from Jackson’s throat, and Derek was _gone_.

He had kissed other people before. There was spin-the-bottle in middle school with someone named Jennifer that he never saw again, then a couple of random guys in high school, Kate in college ( _shudder_ ), then several months with Paige.

But he shouldn’t be thinking of any of them right now because he was kissing _Jackson_ , and all those other people had faded into complete and utter insignificance. Because this was the most perfect thing he had ever experienced in his entire life. Not that kissing anyone should be a contest, but Derek had just hit a walk-off grand slam homer in the World Series, for what it was doing to his brain and his body. His mind had been buzzing all night, but now his entire body was buzzing. The butterflies in his stomach were threatening to carry him away completely, because he felt lighter and airier somehow, like, maybe he should check and see if his feet were actually lifting up off the ground?  Oh, yeah, they actually _were_ because Jackson had wound his arms around Derek’s back and was holding him so closely and leaning back a little that his feet were literally lifting off the ground. Which, now that was an incredible feeling. Derek wasn’t a small guy, but he suddenly felt weightless.

His own arms snaked around Jackson’s shoulders, pulling him close. Their kisses were wet, hot, desperate, as they clung to each other.

Jackson tore his mouth away and left hot kisses along Derek’s jaw, causing him to gasp. His hands threaded through Jackson’s hair, his nails scratched along his scalp, and Derek heard the other man let out a low groan in response.

“I was born to kiss you,” Jackson throatily whispered into Derek’s ear, and Derek couldn’t help it—he snorted in laughter. His hand flew to his mouth, clamping down on it, but it was too late. Jackson had frozen in place, his mouth hot on Derek’s neck still.

“Oh, my god,” Jackson moaned. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Derek burst into laughter and pulled back. Jackson’s look of pure mortification made him smile again, and his hand reached up to soothe the anxious creases on the other man’s forehead.

“Yes, you did,” he chuckled.

Jackson closed his eyes and ducked his head so it was resting on Derek’s collarbone. “Is there any way that you can just...rewind time and ignore that I just said that incredibly embarrassing statement out loud?”

Derek’s hands moved to the back of Jackson’s neck, his fingertips threading through the short hair. His heart was pounding again, but his mind was clear. “What if I asked you if you wanted to come back to my place? Would that make it better?”

Jackson’s head whipped up. “Oh, hell yes.”

Derek couldn’t say how they managed to get back to the hotel. He knew that it involved lots of kissing, some stumbling on the cobblestones, mostly from Jackson—he was proving to be a might clumsy—one very hot moment where Derek was pressing Jackson up against a wall, trapping him in on both sides with his forearms and nuzzling and sucking a mark on the his neck. But they finally managed to make it back to the room, wherein Derek immediately ordered up a bottle of champagne from room service.

Jackson was looking around the room, chewing on a thumbnail as Derek ordered.

“I’m going to go use the restroom, if you don’t mind,” Derek said when he was off the phone.

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Jackson agreed, nodding.

“You’ll still be here when I get back?” Derek hated how hopeful his voice sounded—when had he become so needy?

Jackson’s eyes softened. “Of course I will.”

Derek headed into the bathroom. As he was in there, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was stunned by what he saw. His cheeks were flushed, his neck rubbed red from the short stubble on Jackson’s face. His eyes were wide open, and his pupils were blown out wide.

He hadn’t felt like this in a really long time. If he were being honest with himself—and if he couldn’t be honest with himself, then who else would—he didn’t know if he had _ever_ felt like this. Not even with his fiancée.

_Oh, shit._

_His_ _fiancée._

How in the hell was he going to tell Jackson about Paige?  Paige, Jackson’s friend from high school, no less?

He finished up in the bathroom, but stood at the counter for a long time, just staring—his hands braced on opposite sides of the sink.

 _What in the hell is he doing?_ He was not this kind of person. Someone who _cheated on his fiancée_ with someone he barely knew, just because his name was kind of important.

Oh no oh no oh no. Poor Paige. No matter what, she didn’t deserve this. She might be vapid, and boring, and completely wrong for Derek ( _wow, it was just all coming out now, huh?_ ), but that didn’t mean that she deserved to be treated this way.

Derek stood up straight, and stared himself down. _You have to tell her_ , he thought. _She deserves to know_ . _And so does he._

There was a knock at the door. “Umm...Derek? You doing okay in there?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Derek answered, clearing his throat.

Derek had every intention of opening that door and launching right into it. Confessing all of his sins, laying everything out on the table. He did.

But when he opened the door, Jackson was standing there, his shirt untucked and looking properly ruffled, his hair mussed from Derek’s earlier ministrations. And Derek just...loses all the willpower. He doesn’t want to mess this up. Jackson’s shoes and tie were in a haphazard pile on the floor. He was holding two flutes of champagne, and he had the most adorably concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?”

Derek nodded quickly and grabbed one of the flutes of champagne. Jackson placed a sweet kiss on his lips before walking back into the room, and Derek downed the champagne in one gulp. The bubbles nearly made him want to choke, but he strode to the bottle that was chilling in a bucket of ice—Jackson must have let the room service in—and poured himself another glass quickly before downing it.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger.” Jackson downed his own champagne and sidled up to Derek, wrapping one of his arms around Derek’s waist, the other holding up the flute. “Save some for me?”

Derek refilled both of their glasses and then put the champagne bottle shakily back into the ice bucket. They held each other’s gazes as they downed the bubbly drink.

“Look, I...um…” Jackson started. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh, good. Can I tell you something first?” Derek blurted out.

Jackson seemed relieved for the distraction. “Sure.”

“Okay. Umm…” Derek had no idea what to say. How did one even start this conversation? _Hi, I know we’re destined to be together, but I got really pissed off at Fate after my sister was killed so I’m engaged to someone else but you’re really cute and I’m sorry._

Yeah, that’d go over real well.

Maybe another drink would help. He began to pull the champagne bottle back out of the ice bucket, but Jackson saw him and moved to grab his hand.

“Hey, hey. What is it?” He pulled Derek’s hand away from the bottle and held it gently between his own, caressing his skin and soothing him with soft words. “I know we’re kind of celebrating here, and…I mean, you’re a bigger guy than me, but I’m pretty sure four shots of champagne is a cry for help. Are you okay?”

Derek looked up into his big, stupid story eyes and got lost for a minute. _Was he really going to blow this up right now?_ Before he did, he decided to lean in and press a gentle kiss to Jackson’s lips.

It was supposed to be one kiss—a make-me-brave kiss—but it turned into a make-me-hot kiss in the blink of an eye. It was the damn whimpers that Jackson kept making when Derek slid his tongue against the other man’s. It was making Derek _crazy_. He wrapped his arms around Jackson’s waist, and held him close, only breaking the kiss to nuzzle his nose into the side of Jackson’s neck.

_Okay. Maybe if I tell him while we’re making out, it will soften the blow._

Derek kept laying kisses on Jackson’s neck, and just under his ear. The goosebumps that were erupting on Jackson’s neck were so addictive, and Derek wanted to kiss every single one of them. He tried to do so while he talked. “There’s just…something...I have...to tell you.”

Jackson pulled back, putting his long-fingered hands on either side of Derek’s face. His face was flushed and wanting, but he looked serious as he talked in a soft voice. “Hey. There’s nothing that you can say that will change the way I feel about you.”

Derek wanted to simultaneously melt into the ground and also hide in shame. _Seriously? Was this guy real?_ Jackson’s hands wrapped around him again, and Derek buried his face into his neck, working his way down his collarbone. His head was thrown to the side, allowing easier access, and he hummed as Derek laid kisses to the exposed skin under his collared shirt.

“I’m engaged. We’re supposed to be married. In two weeks.”

Jackson completely froze. Derek tried to keep kissing his neck, hoping against hope that he could distract from the words he just said, but there wouldn’t be any of that. Jackson’s hands had gone up in complete surrender, and he was leaning back away from Derek suddenly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Except possibly _that_.”

Derek’s eyes were locked on the redness that was peeking out of Jackson’s collar. Redness from the stubble burn that he had created. God, it had been going so well, and he just ruined it. He slowly lifted his eyes to see Jackson staring at him, eyes wide.

“ _What_? You’re...you’re..”

Well, there was no going back now. Lay all the cards out on the table. “She’s a friend of yours.”

Jackson seemed taken aback by that, his eyes blinking. “She...? She is?”

Derek swallowed roughly. “Her name’s Paige.”

Jackson’s face was blank for a moment before his eyes widened again. “ _Paige_?”

Derek nodded. “It was me on the phone when you called. It’s how I knew you were here.”

Jackson looked devastated, and he took a deep breath in and out, like he was steadying himself. Derek wished he could take it all back, but he also knew that there was no way he could have kept this a secret. He stepped forward, into Jackson’s space again, and it’s like he couldn’t help it.

“I thought I would never find you,” Derek admitted.

Jackson’s eyes softened, his eyebrows raising, “I understand.” And then they were kissing again. It felt so good. _So good_ . But now it also felt wrong. Like, now that it was out there, they were both willing participants in the deception. Derek couldn’t do it. He couldn’t deceive Paige this way, and so no matter how good Jackson’s lips felt when they were sucking on his bottom lip like this— _and oh, god, how good that felt_ —Derek knew he had to stop it.

“I’ve gotta...I’ve gotta call her.”

Jackson swept his tongue into Derek’s mouth, capturing a murmured _no_ that he emitted. Derek felt himself losing his resolve, so he put his hands on Jackson’s chest and pushed away slightly.  “I’ve gotta call her.”

Jackson looked wrecked. His hair was mussed and his lips were swollen and red and Derek wanted nothing more than to dive back in, sucking on those lips some more and marking up his skin with a deeper red, but he had to do the right thing. Jackson was The One. Derek knew it in the deepest parts of who he was, and he didn’t want to lie about it.

It was only fair to let Paige know, so that she could make the arrangements she needed to. He felt a twinge of guilt that she was about to have her engagement broken over the phone, but as he stared into Jackson’s dazed face, Derek knew this had to happen _now_. Marrying Paige, when Jackson was sitting right here, felt like the world’s biggest mistake.

Jackson cleared his throat slightly, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You don’t have to call her.” He leaned into Derek’s neck and started to leave distracting kisses under Derek’s ear. Shivers erupted across his skin, and he melted a bit. “Trust me. Trust me. You don’t have to call her.”

Derek pulled away reluctantly. “Yes, I do. I have to. I have to.” He stepped back from Jackson toward the phone.

Jackson huffed slightly. “Are you _sure_?"

Derek looked into Jackson’s eyes resolutely. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Wait, wait—!” Derek heard the plea from behind him, but he was resolved now. He was calling Paige. He was doing this. He sat on the bed by the phone and took a deep breath. Jackson had followed him and was currently taking deep breaths himself, pouring another glass of champagne and downing it quickly. _He’s so nervous, how adorable_. Jackson raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “Do you want some more champagne?” Derek shook his head no and pressed the button for the hotel lobby. The phone started to ring and Jackson stepped in between Derek’s legs, grabbing the phone away and placing it back in the cradle awkwardly before leaning down over Derek and capturing his mouth in another blazing kiss.

Derek allowed Jackson to lay him back onto the bed, slotting himself in between Derek’s legs, and _god_ , Derek could just do this forever. Jackson fit along his body perfectly, their similar heights allowing them to line up in _all_ the right places at once. Derek felt the breath hitch under his lips, and his hands traveled down Jackson’s back, and gripped onto his narrow waist. He felt so good under Derek’s hands, all warm and soft, and Derek knew that he was ruined forever after this. There would never be anyone that felt this good, that made him lose his mind the way that Jackson did.

“Look,” Jackson pulled back, anchoring himself on his elbows around Derek’s shoulders. “I have a confession to make too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jackson exhaled, avoiding Derek’s eyes.

“You can tell me anything.”

Jackson’s eyes flashed with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

He seemed so nervous all of a sudden. Almost...scared. Derek’s heart broke, and he wanted to soothe that worry. “Of course. We found each other, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” There was a softness in Jackson’s eyes that Derek wanted to keep in his memory forever. He was so beautiful.

“So,” Derek smiled. “This is our destiny. So you can tell me anything.”

Jackson took a deep breath again. “Okay. So...the thing is…” He ducked his head into Derek’s neck, as if he couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Derek’s heart started pounding. What could possibly be this bad, that could get in the way of destiny? “The thing is, I’m not exactly…”

“Yeah?”

“I mean,” Jackson lifted his head to look Derek in the eyes again, shrugging, “only in the most _literal_ sense…” He ducked his head again, so his next words were muffled into Derek’s neck. Derek closed his eyes, loving the feel of Jackson laid out on top of him, kissing his ear.

“I’m not Jackson Whittemore.”

Derek’s eyes flew open immediately. “What?”

Jackson remained tucked into Derek’s neck, laying kisses there. “Yeahhh, my name’s not Jackson Whittemore, I only told you it was.”

Derek’s brain emptied completely of all thought. He blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to the words he’d just heard. _His name’s not Jackson Whittemore?_  “Wh—wh— _what is it?_ ”

Jackson lifted his head to look in Derek’s eyes, an apologetic look there. “It’s Stiles Stilinski.”

_Oh. My. God._

Derek had no idea what happened, but one moment he was lying on the bed with an incredibly gorgeous, destiny-chosen man lying on top of him, and the next, Derek was sitting up on the bed with a pounding heart and Stiles— _Stiles??_ —was flying across to the wall opposite him.

Stiles blinked rapidly, his hands flying up in defense. “Obviously, you’re very upset. That’s natural, that’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly Derek felt like throwing up. The places on his body that had been warmed by Jackson’s kisses now felt like worms crawling around on his skin, and he shuddered in disgust. He stood up quickly, looking around the room for any kind of escape. But this was his room. So there was no escape. But there was a man in here, and Derek was suddenly _extremely_ angry.

Stiles saw the change in demeanor immediately, and raised his hands again in defense. “I’m sorry!” he squealed.

Derek heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. “ _Sorry_?” Derek stalked forward, trying to decide if throwing Stiles out of his room would be sufficient, or if a dive off of his balcony would be more appropriate.

“Everything else I said tonight is true!” Derek huffed in disbelief, and Stiles rushed to respond. “I swear to God! I’m single, my mom died when I was a kid, I have a Jeep, the bell tower story. I admit it, mea culpa. I just lied about one _little thing_!”

Derek was standing toe-to-toe with the other man now, and where before they looked each other directly in the eye, Stiles now appeared to be shrinking.

Derek made his face as menacing as possible, which must be pretty menacing, because Stiles actually whimpered, and not one of those sexy whimpers he was emitting a few minutes ago. This one was more like a literal puppy whimper.

“Your identity is _one_ _little thing?_ ”

Stiles audibly gulped, and raised himself up to his full height. He had bravery, Derek would give him that. Other men had wilted under far less than the attitude that Derek was giving off right now. Stiles’ voice was conciliatory, “You said, whatever it was, that you’d understand.”

“That’s before I knew what it was.”

Derek couldn’t believe he was such an idiot. Looking now at this...well, he was still an incredibly gorgeous and almost incredibly perfect man, but he was also a _liar_. Derek couldn’t believe it got this far. He was about to break off his engagement. He was about to ruin his own life. For someone he didn’t even know.

Fucking Fate again. That bitch.

Derek turned away from Stiles and grabbed his shoes and tie from the floor before turning back and shoving them into Stiles’ chest. Derek then grabbed his collar and started dragging him towards the door. Stiles yelped—literally _yelped_ —as he was being dragged to the door. Derek dropped his grip as he arrived at the door.

Stiles gave him a look of sincerity, his voice placating. “Look. Let’s calm down, okay? Let’s put this in perspective.”

Derek huffed and pulled the door open, nearly smacking Stiles in the face as he did so. “Jesus!”

Derek used one of his hands to shove Stiles into the hallway. Stiles’ hands started flailing, his clothes and shoes flying from his hands and back into the room. “I can’t believe you’re gonna let a few little letters of the alphabet keep us apart. It is a _detail_.”

Derek huffed in annoyance. He picked up the shoes that Stiles had dropped, shoved them into his arms and began pushing him down the hotel hallway towards the elevator, where Derek pushed the button.

“Look, just call me Jackson, okay? It’ll be like a nickname,” Stiles pleaded.

Derek swore that there was literal steam pouring out of his ears right now. He was furious. He was physically restraining himself from tearing the limbs off the man in front of him.

“How could you do this to me?” Derek muttered quietly.

The elevator door dinged open at that moment, and Derek shoved Stiles into it unceremoniously. He dropped his shoes again as he turned around and shouted in an obvious tone, “Because I’m in love with you!”

Derek hated how his heart reacted to those words. His dumb, traitorous heart leapt with that phrase, and started screaming at him to take Stiles back. To remember how it felt. To forgive. To forget.

But Derek wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was a betrayal. No matter how he felt this entire night, Jackson—er, _Stiles_ —had lied. He would never be able to trust him. And trust meant everything.

Derek felt the vice clamping down on his heart once again. He looked up at Stiles through his lashes as the doors slowly closed. Derek tried to ignore the pounding in his heart as he saw Stiles’ earnest, heartbroken expression.

“What kind of an excuse is that?”


	5. A Date With Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! I decided to enter the 12 Days of Sterek writing challenge, and so that took precedence (writing deadlines and all). Be looking for that on December 22nd. It's all meet-cutes and single dads and cute fluff!
> 
> Thanks for your patience--hope this 12k monster of a chapter makes up for it!!
> 
>  
> 
> Edited to add: After serious struggle with the characterization in the original movie, I have started to veer from the source material starting in this chapter. I have gone back to edit some of the interactions in this chapter to reflect the changes that are coming. Thankfully, if you're reading this after the beginning of April, then you won't even notice!

 

 

*****************

Derek lifted his hands to the closed elevator and pressed them against the doors. He tried not to think of the sight of the broken man that had just disappeared behind them. It took everything in him not to press the button and run after him. He had been mad. Scarily mad. But now? It took nearly no time at all for the anger to dissipate into a dull ache in his gut. Now the vice around his heart _hurt_. He scrunched his eyes shut tight, fighting against the stinging he felt behind his eyelids. This day had been stuffed full of nearly every emotion imaginable, and suddenly, Derek was completely and utterly exhausted.

He shuffled his way down the hallway, and when he got to his door he realized that, in his haste, he had left the key inside his room. He never cried—but this nearly broke him. He remembered then that Erica had a key to his room, too. As much as he didn’t want to see anyone, he didn’t feel like going back into his room where so much had happened just a few minutes ago. He also didn’t really want to be alone. He’d get lost in his thoughts and it wouldn’t be pretty.

He took a deep breath and knocked gently on her door.

A couple moments later, a lock disengaged, and a sleepy-eyed Erica opened the door.

“Der?”

Derek opened his mouth to answer, and his throat seemed to close up with the effort. He managed to squeak out, “He...Jackson…”

His voice completely broke down has he said the name again, and Erica immediately swung the door wide open. She was in sleep-shorts and a huge Howard Bisons football t-shirt that Derek knew belonged to Boyd, and she pulled him toward her in the doorway and held him close.

He never cried—hadn’t since Laura. But now, it was Erica’s gentleness that finally broke him. She was the She-Wolf, known to bite off opponent’s arguments at the knees and leave the courtroom all with a smirk on her face. But with Derek, Erica was all love and support, and as a result, he couldn’t hide anything from her. The tears started to fall, and she gathered him into her arms, holding him tightly for a few moments before leading him inside.

“I locked my key in my room,” he whimpered out. Objectively, Derek knew he sounded pathetic. Also objectively, he didn’t give a shit.

“I knew you would at some point, knucklehead. Do you want me to open your room? Or...do you want to stay in here for a little bit?”

Derek looked up at Erica, her eyebrows raised in concern. It was to her credit that she hadn’t pressed him for answers yet. He knew that she had to be bursting with the need for details.

“Can I stay here for a little bit?”

“You don’t even need to ask, Der.”

He sunk down onto the edge of her bed, noting the rumpled sheets. _She had been sleeping_. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “ _Derek_.”

The tears kept falling, and Erica knelt in front of him and let him collapse down on her shoulder. She wrapped her hands around his broad shoulders and let him just rest there, embarrassingly soaking the shoulder of her t-shirt.

After several moments, his tears subsided and he sat up slowly, internally cringing at the wet spot he left on her shirt. He wiped at it fruitlessly, causing her to look down at it and roll her eyes.

“How many times have I cried my ridiculous tears on your henleys? I was due for a repayment.” She looked up at him with concern. “Do you want me to run you a hot bath?”

Derek nodded. Erica got up, squeezed his knee, and went into the en suite. A bath actually sounded incredible. Maybe the warmth could unfreeze his brain and help him figure out what to do next.

Erica was back before he could think too hard, and she led him into the bathroom.

“Take your time, okay? I’ll go get you a change of clothes from your room and leave them outside the door.”

Derek undressed and sank inside the warmth of the water. The high-end nature of the hotel afforded him plenty of room for his body and his thoughts, which took up a ton of space and were already swirling with the bubbles that Erica had set up.

He couldn’t continue his relationship with Paige. No matter what happened with Jackson—er, _Stiles_ —or didn’t happen, the one thing it did do was expose just how much they shouldn’t actually be together. Stiles had managed to recognize Derek’s pain with Laura in the course of a few minutes. Paige had always told him that he should be over it already, which of course made Derek feel worse when he would have bad days. Paige lived in a bubble of sunshine and happiness where any down days just didn’t make sense.

Breaking up with her wouldn’t be easy, but it needed to be done. Especially since their wedding day wasn’t that far away. She would need some time. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t breaking up with her over the telephone while he was still in Venice because she was less likely to be able to murder him in his sleep, and he was marginally successful. Whether or not his things would survive would be another story. Maybe Boyd could do some preliminary work on that front. God knows Paige was scared enough of him—so weird.

After that decision was made, his thoughts drifted to Jackson—er, _Stiles_ —and replaying the entire evening in his mind, wondering what in the hell had gone wrong.  The problem was, nothing really _had_ gone wrong. The entire evening was perfect. Yeah, the guy had lied about his name. But—he hadn’t lied about everything. He couldn’t lie about the way he looked at Derek. He couldn’t lie about how his hand had felt laced through his own. He couldn’t lie about how their kisses felt.

 _But it was just a physical connection_ , the voice in his head snarled. _It wasn’t real, Derek_.

 _But,_ the other voice in his subconscious countered, _what about how he connected with you about your sister? About his mom? You saw his face. That was real. You can’t fake that._

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

“Der?”

“Yeah?”

“You doing okay? The water’s probably cold by now.”

“Yeah, I’m coming out.” The water _had_ gotten cold, and he was starting to shiver. He found his comfy sweatpants and tee outside the door— _God bless Erica and her knowledge of his habits_ —and after getting dressed, he headed out to see Erica lounging on the bed, her legs crossed in front of her.

He took a deep breath. “That guy wasn’t Jackson. His name was Stiles and he pretended to be Jackson.”

“Oh thank God you’re talking,” Erica exhaled. “I was really trying to wait you out, but I started to worry that you’d drown in there, or go all stoic and silent when you got out here.” She patted the space on the bed next to her.

Derek sank down, leaned back against the pillows and crossed his legs. He proceeded to tell her the entire story, ending with the elevator door closing and his subsequent decision to end it with Paige. Erica had remained silent the entire time, facing forward, giving away nothing.

 _She’s client-ing me_ , Derek thought. Every once in awhile, he forgot that she was so good at her job. Moments like this remind him that she’s incredible at it.

“So, what do you think?” A silent Erica was a scary Erica. Derek had no idea what was going through her head at this point. She could be reciting the Declaration of Independence over and over in her head, for all he knew.

“Sociopaths.”

“Huh?”

“They find out what you want them to be, and then they act that way.”

“He’s not a sociopath.”

Erica turned and finally looked at him, and Derek is surprised by the fire he sees in her gaze. “You’re really going to defend him? You realize I prosecute sociopaths for a living, right?”

Derek sighed. The anger that Erica was feeling was familiar. He had felt it, too. It’s what fueled him to toss Jackson—dammit, _Stiles_ —out of his room and into the elevator.

“You _talked_ to him, Erica. Did he _seem_ like a sociopath to you?”

“ _Sociopaths are really good at not acting like sociopaths when you first meet them, Derek_!” Erica huffed in annoyance.

“Plus, he just met me. How would he know what I want?”

Erica had no response to that. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Derek could tell that Erica was getting her anger under control. She was so silent and still that Derek thought maybe she had drifted off, until she spoke again. “So did he tell you his real name?”

“Stiles Stilinski.”

Erica sat up straighter. “Stilinski?”

“Yeah.”

“As in, Sheriff Stilinski of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department?”

Derek’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“He _said_ his dad was a Sheriff.”

“Are you telling me that the Stiles Stilinski that you met tonight is the son of the Sheriff from our tiny town of Beacon Hills?” At Derek’s look of disbelief, Erica huffed. “That’s the craziest coincidence I have ever heard.”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

“Oh, we’re back to that, are we?”

Derek’s brain was hurting. How was this possible? How had he never met Stiles before? Granted, they didn’t have too many run-ins with the sheriff. Probably once or twice after Laura, but that whole time was such a blur of anger and depression that he couldn’t remember. Derek wracked his brain, trying to figure out if he had ever met Stiles before. He couldn’t think of anything.

“How did I not know him?”

“Well, he’s younger than you, right?

“Yeah, but not by _that_ much.”

“And after Laura, you were a _little_ insulated in school.”

Derek smirked. “A little?”

Erica smirked back. “I was trying to be nice. You pretty much placed yourself inside a Yeti thermos and kept yourself on ice for years.”

Derek sighed and pushed himself off the bed. “I have to call Paige.”

Erica nodded, leaning over to the bedside table and grabbing his keycard. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Derek smiled at her. Always his support system. “No, I...I’ve got this.” He grabbed his small pile of clothes and carried it back to his room with his borrowed keycard.

Breaking up with Paige wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. Well, that’s not entirely true. It was horrible. Paige screeched and railed against him, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear for a big chunk of it, but in the end, she said goodbye to him civilly, and as he hung up, all Derek could feel was relief. And exhaustion. He needed sleep. The time change and the stress of the day had definitely caught up with him a while ago.

Derek looked at his bed, the sheets still rumpled and mussed. His brain immediately rushed to earlier in the evening, when Stiles had pressed into him there and ravaged him with kisses. So much had changed in just a couple of hours. His heart ached if he thought too much about it. He couldn’t stay in here. He rummaged through the pants he had been wearing that night and pulled out the now-wrinkled yearbook photo, clutching it close.

He walked back to Erica’s room, smiling when he saw that her door was slightly propped open.

He locked it behind him as he entered, and found Erica talking quietly into the phone. Derek climbed back to his spot on the bed, fluffing the pillows and laying down. Erica slid down the bed a little more and Derek put his arm around under her pillow as she snuggled into his shoulder.

“I love you too, baby. Goodnight.”

Erica hung up the phone and plugged it into the charger before curling back into Derek’s side.

“Boyd?” Derek asked her.

“Yep. He’s gonna make sure all your stuff gets out of Paige’s house okay.”

Derek smiled into her temple as he gave her a kiss. “Thank you. I...I wouldn’t be okay if you weren’t here.” He’s still holding the wrinkled photo, his thumb tracing back and forth over the lacrosse helmet and the man’s face hidden beneath it. “This whole thing was so stupid.”

“No, Der.” She turned over so she was resting her head on her folded hands atop his chest. “Don’t think like that. You took a risk. And risks are inherently scary. I’m so proud of you for doing it. I feel like I’ve been seeing the old you again.” She turns back over and snuggles into his side. “I’ve missed you.”

Derek hummed into her hair in response. He needed to think more about all of this. But he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Derek was awakened by a knocking sound coming from the room next door. Then his name, quietly filtered through the door.

“Derek?”

 _Oh my god. It’s him._ He turned to look at Erica, who was already throwing the covers back. The voice drifted through the door again.

“Derek, it’s Stiles. Please open up.”

Derek stumbled out of the bed, following Erica to the door. She turned and put a gentle hand on his chest.

“No. You stay in here. I’ll take care of him.”

She flung her door open, and Derek hid behind it, listening to everything out in the hallway.

“Hey you! _Stiles_ , is it?” Derek knew she was glaring at him. That tone of voice from Erica meant she wasn’t going to put up with any shit. “You have got some nerve, coming back here this morning.”

“Look, this…” Derek’s heart hurt again at the sound of Stiles’ broken voice. “This has been a big misunderstanding—”

Derek heard her huff out a laugh. “Is this some male thing? You’ll say anything to get laid?”

“That is _not_ fair.” Stiles sounded defensive. “First off, I didn’t get laid. And secondly, I am The Guy. I don’t have the right _name_ , but I was there. He knows it, too. Some metaphysical wires got crossed somewhere, but I know he felt it. He and I are meant to be.”

Derek tried to shut out what Stiles was saying. Tried to shut out the truth of the words from Stiles’ mouth. But he couldn’t. They cut him at the knees, and he found himself having to physically hold himself back from charging into the hallway.

_He lied, Derek. About something as basic as his name. You can’t trust him._

_Would you have listened to him otherwise?_ Derek knew in his heart that the answer was no. The name made him take a second look. And the second look was what made him stay.

“How could you lie to him like that?” Derek pressed his ear against the door to hear them.

“I literally had to. It’s the only way I could think of to stop him. If I didn’t, I would have never seen him again.”

Derek heard Erica turn back towards the door, starting to open it. Derek jerked back a bit, not wanting the door to hit him in the face.

“Erica, please,” Stiles pleaded. “ _Please_? Listen to me for just a moment, okay? Please?”

Erica sighed audibly. “Two minutes, Stiles. You have two minutes to convince me not to call the Italian police and have them dragging you and your stupid ass flowers out of here.”

_Flowers? He brought flowers?_

Derek peered out of the peep hole in the door, and sure enough, Erica was standing with her arms crossed, her hair still sleep-mussed, with fire in her gaze. Stiles was standing next to her, one hand on her arm, the other clutching a comically large bouquet of flowers. Derek could tell several of the flowers had fallen out onto the floor—most likely from those flailing hands.

“Okay, look.” Derek saw Stiles take a deep breath, and Derek braced himself for what was sure to be a stupid-ass explanation. He couldn’t help but watch out of the peep hole yet again. Stiles dropped his hand from Erica’s arm as she turned, and Stiles started pacing back and forth in the hallway, his hands wringing the bouquet as he spoke.

“I am not supposed to be in Venice. I’m a lowly assistant to the curator at the Legion of Honor in San Fran. The curator was supposed go on this annual visit to the museums here in Italy, but she got the measles. _Measles_ , at age 45, _how does that even happen_ ? So they sent me instead, who has never been further than like, Puerto Vallarta on Spring Break or something. And I just happened to take a semester-and-a-half of Italian language credit in college, even though my father suggested it was a complete waste of time since we live in _freaking California_ , where 38 percent of the population speaks Spanish, but there it is. And...and! I was supposed to meet a colleague of the curator that night instead of walking around the streets of Venice, but they cancelled on me and so I was just, y’know...walking aimlessly. And I bent down to tie my shoe and…. _bam!_ It hit me. Literally. I was hit by this shoe. And then I looked up, and I saw him. And I followed him, holding that damn shoe. And then I finally looked into his eyes, and wow.”

Stiles stopped his frantic, agitated pacing, and faced Erica head-on. Derek held his breath, not wanting to miss a second of what was said next.

“Something happened then. Something...something that’s never happened to me before. Something so familiar...”

He looked so wistful, and Derek felt it, too. The remembering of the night before, the way Stiles had looked up at him. It was...intense. Visceral.

“Mania?”

Derek was struck from his reverie by Erica’s sarcastic tone.

Stiles groaned in frustration. “ _No_ ! Ugh. Whatever. He fell in love with me, too, _by the way_. Did he tell you how he felt? How he kissed me?”

Derek flushed and pulled away from the peep hole. He had left out a few of the details in his retelling to Erica. It had just felt so...intimate. And like, it didn’t matter anyway? Because Derek had kicked Stiles out. It was over, right? It didn’t explain why Derek’s ears were burning hot with the memory of the kisses that he and Stiles had shared. He couldn’t bear to look at him, but he heard Stiles’ low tone and pressed his ear against the door.

“Look, I don’t do this kind of thing. I don’t fling myself at random strangers. I don’t fall in love at first sight. But when he said he was leaving, I just said, ‘oh please God, give me a sign, _some way_ of making sure that this man doesn’t get onto a gondola and ride away from me forever. He’s the one.’”

Derek’s breath hitched from behind the door, and he lifted his head again to press his eye against the peep hole.

“And God did. ‘Cause Derek told me the name—granted, it wasn’t _mine_ , but it was a start—and...if that’s not destiny, then… Then I don’t know anything.”

Derek had been watching Stiles carefully, searching for a sign that it was all a lie. But...there was nothing but earnestness. Stiles peered up at the door, almost like he knew that Derek was standing there. Derek’s eyes widened, and then Stiles looked back at Erica.

“That’s really romantic,” Erica said, softly. Then she angled her head and looked at Stiles intently. “Is it a lie?”

“Oh come on!” Stiles flailed, more flowers shooting out of the bouquet in his arms. “It is a _name_ , for Christ's sake. This whoIe thing is ludicrous. You know he’s out of his mind, chasing some guy around—this guy, by the way, could happen to be the biggest _loser_ on the face of the Earth. He could be a grump, a jerk, a pervert, a cynic...some guy whose mind is infested with dark thoughts, a criminal… He could be...truly _sick_.” Stiles stopped himself in his rant, leaning in to Erica, pleading. “I mean, reaIistically, what are the odds that he's some extra-super, double-terrific guy?”

Erica sighed. “Ten million to one.”

Derek wanted Erica to yell at Stiles. To stay on his side. Stiles was a _liar_ . He _manipulated_ Derek to get...well, to get into his pants? The reasoning felt flimsy to his own heart now. Derek had watched Stiles’ confession. It was wrong to lie, of course. But Erica wasn’t an idiot. And Derek had been slowly watching her armor of anger fall off, piece-by-piece. If _she_ can grow to trust him…then maybe Stiles was worth trusting. Derek wanted to feel betrayed by Erica’s actions, but...he couldn’t.

Derek’s heartbeat ramped up again. Because the realization that Erica was on Stiles’ side meant...that Derek was all alone. Again. Erica would end up coming back into the room, and convincing Derek that Stiles made a mistake, and that he didn’t mean it, and that he’s a really nice guy. Suddenly, for Derek, all the oxygen felt like it had left the room.

He...well dammit, he was _scared_.

Because this? This...whatever...that he and Stiles had shared? It had the potential to be something _real_. And that was as terrifying as jumping off the edge of a cliff.

Trusting someone with his heart again? Derek had done that years ago, and it had been crushed when Fate took Laura away. He had to shield his heart again. Even though it was lonely, at least he wasn’t in danger of being hurt. What had Erica said? He put himself inside a Yeti bottle? He could do it again.

He heard the doorknob turning, and Derek dove into the bathroom, shutting the door, unwilling to face Stiles _or_ Erica at that point.

“Der?”

“Go away, Erica.”

“Der, listen. Stiles is here.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I gathered. Tell him to go fuck himself.”

Derek heard the short squawk from behind the door—Stiles must be flailing again. He heard Erica shush him. _Why isn’t she making him leave? It’s obvious I don’t want to see him._

 _Deep breath. Be strong._ “Erica, I’m getting us out on the first available flight home.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah, it’s for the best, I think.” Derek leaned his head against the bathroom door, willing himself to be strong, to get rid of Stiles and his stupid, adorable face. He called out to Erica through the door, “You were right about this whole thing from the beginning. It was crazy, chasing a name across the globe.”

It was quiet for a moment, murmurs filtering through the door, Derek unable to understand them. Then Erica called back, “What about Stiles?”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah.”

Derek inhaled deeply. “Stiles was a _mistake_.”

“I don’t know,” Erica’s voice drifted, like she was looking away from the door and to where Stiles must have been standing right next to her. “I thought he was cute, and kinda fun.”

Derek made his response as pointed as he could manage. “He was eccentric at best, and _not_ in a good way.”

There was no response from Erica, no sound coming from the other side of the door. Derek wondered if Stiles had finally gotten the hint. There wasn’t a definitive sound of him leaving, though, so Derek didn’t want to leave the safety of the bathroom.

The silence stretched on until Erica finally said, “You’re crazy about him.”

“I am not!” he squawked.

“You are, too.”

“I _hate_ him.”  Okay, yeah, he was being petulant, but...Erica did _not_ need to call him out like this, especially since he knew that Stiles was standing right outside the door.

Derek’s assumption proved to be correct when Stiles responded, “Well, that’s a strong response for someone you said you didn’t even like.”

Derek huffed. “I hate what you did, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I know. And I feel terrible about it, alright? Would you please come out? I need to tell you something.”

“No.”

“Come on, Der. Hear me out. I found ya boy.”

_What?_

Derek threw open the bathroom door, to find Stiles leaning comfortably against the frame, a half-mangled bouquet of flowers in his hand. How he looked so adorable was beyond Derek, but there he was, in an untucked dress shirt, with a loose tie flung around his neck, like he couldn’t bother with tying it up all the way. Derek wanted to grab that stupid tie and kiss the stupid smirk off of his stupid face, but instead he pushed his way past and into the room where Erica was perched on her bed. Derek gave her an annoyed expression before turning back to Stiles.

“What do you mean, you found him?”

“Look, I know that you and I?” Stiles waggled his pointer finger back and forth in the space between them. “We are meant to be. But after last night, I knew you would never listen to me. So, remember how I told you I was good at finding people? Well, I found your Jackson Whittemore last night.”

Derek’s eyes were wide as saucers, and he looked back at Erica to find that hers looked the same.

“How?”

Stiles smirked. “I _told_ you, I’m really good at finding people. Plus, I kind of don’t sleep? So I was up all night looking for this guy. He does this trip every year, follows the same route, going through Ravenna, Bologna, and Ferrara. He’ll move from here to Florence, and is staying in The Four Seasons there.”

Derek was gobsmacked. Stiles stepped toward him cautiously, then lifted his hand and gently pushed Derek’s mouth closed where it had fallen open in disbelief.

“I did a good job, right?”

Erica huffed a laugh. “Umm…I think your stalker skills are better than mine.”

“Pros of having a dad in law enforcement. You learn a few tricks of the trade. So, the guy’s like, a wine guy? So he’ll be busy all day, but he’s having dinner tonight in Florence, and I figured you could go there and meet him. We have time to drive—it’s only five and a half hours, and I have a car. Whaddya say?”

Derek found himself blinking, trying to get his brain to catch up to his racing heart. He still had the chance to meet the real Jackson Whittemore? Did he even want that now? After all of this?

 _Yes_ , the answer practically screamed itself at him. _Yes, you do._

Erica leapt up from the bed, bouncing over to the two men and squealing with joy. “I love road trips! Derek, go get your stuff and let’s get out of here!”

Derek dared to look up at Stiles, who was eyeing him back with a careful, guarded expression. Derek’s heart constricted a bit at the sight of those beautiful brown eyes again. Last night they had been so full of life, so open and hopeful. _Derek_ had made them guarded. “Thanks for this.”

Stiles’ look shifted to concern. “Look, man. I’m really sorry about last night. It was completely out-of-line for me to mislead you like that. I...I hope that this will help you to forgive me.”

Derek wanted to tell him that he was already forgiven. That last night wasn’t a mistake, it was just a heat of the moment thing, or...something. But he just...couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. He was still too raw. So instead, he just nodded his head and brushed past Stiles to go back to his room and gather up his things.

By the time he had gathered up his things and Erica had crammed all of her things back in her bags—seriously, how the fuck had she unpacked _everything_ over the course of 12 hours?—they were on their way out of the hotel. The gondola took them from their hotel to the car park where Stiles’ car was waiting for them, a tiny little Italian model that Derek was positive that they would never fit into in a million years, but it turned out that Stiles was a Tetris master and managed to get everything into the car and still left room for Derek in the back seat.

Derek was torn about leaving Venice. From an architectural perspective, 12 hours was not enough time in the beautiful city. But from an emotional perspective, he couldn’t wait to get out. Of course, the main source of Derek’s emotional trauma was currently sitting in the front seat, switching back and forth between yelling out curses and singing operettas—all in Italian, of course—making the emotional separation difficult. But the promise of driving across the countryside and seeing the person that he would find upon arrival helped him to get over his nerves.

The drive to Florence was astounding. Derek couldn’t get over the landscape, the winding roads, the tiny farms and the massive vineyards that spread across the countryside. He wanted to slow down, to immerse himself in the way of life that unfolded around him, and to be honest, he wanted to do it with Stiles at his side.

The first half of the drive, Stiles and Erica talked non-stop. He talked about art school, and when Derek stayed quiet, Erica filled Stiles in on Derek’s own design education. They had both gone to Beacon Hills, but being four years apart, had just missed each other. Derek found himself wondering if things would have been different if they had met in the hallways instead of in this crazy situation.

At the midway point, Erica demanded that she switch seats so she could take a nap, and Derek was forced to the front seat. Stiles put up with about 14.2 minutes of silence from Derek before needling him in to conversation. It started out with bickering and huffs off annoyance, but soon—and Derek couldn’t figure out _how_ —Derek was really talking. One minute he was grumbling about fitting the customer’s vision into his own artistic desires, and the next minute he was talking about how hard it had been to build a business all on his own with no family. He talked about his Uncle Peter’s distance after the loss of their parents, how Laura had stepped up to help raise him, how devastated he was when she was killed.

Stiles, for his part, was an incredible listener. Sure, he tended to ramble and gesture way too wildly (Derek had to grab the wheel at one point when Stiles got into a one-man diatribe about the loss of arts education in the public school systems, and nearly drove them into a roadside ditch), but he was ridiculously endearing, _especially_ when he became passionate and emotional, whether it was art, or his father’s health, or his mother’s passing.

They flowed easily through topics, and Derek began to love riling Stiles up. All he had to do was voice some ridiculous opinion that he didn’t _necessarily_ hold to (“Batman is _totally_ a better superhero than Iron Man, Stiles.”), but pretended to be vehemently for, just to get that red blossoming color to show back up in Stiles’ cheeks when he got aggravated.

All too soon, the rolling hills of the countryside began melding into ancient stone buildings and the city of Florence slowly unfolded around them. The yellowed stone walls and the red-tiled roofs gave the entire city a warm glow. Their arrival in the city reminded Derek why they were there in the first place, and he had to shake himself out of the unexpected melancholy that descended upon him. He shouldn’t be sad—he was about to meet Jackson, right? He was meeting Jackson in one of the most beautiful, romantic cities in Europe.

But even as he was convincing himself of it, he couldn’t help glancing over at Stiles in the driver’s seat, who had gotten noticeably quieter the closer they got to the hotel.

Stiles turned the car into the lane at the Four Seasons, and once again, Derek was struck with the incredible beauty that was laid out before him. Tall, cypress trees lined the lane to the hotel that could only be described as magnificent.

“Whoa,” Stiles exclaimed at the site of the massive hotel.

“Umm...yeah. You’re sure Jackson stays _here_?”

“Yep. Every year.”

“The guy must be _loaded_ ,” Erica piped up from the backseat. Derek hadn’t noticed her waking up, the sight of the incredible compound the only thing he could focus on.

Stiles pulled to the front of the hotel and parked the car. “Stay here, I’ll go check us in.”

Derek watched Stiles walk in the enlarged doors of the hotel, speaking in Italian to the doormen as he passed.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Of course! This place is incredible.”

“Oh,” Erica said with a smirk. “I don’t mean the hotel. I mean the ass that you’re staring at.”

Derek shook himself out of the stare. “I was _not_ staring at Stiles’ ass.”

“Sure. And you don’t have drool on your lower lip, either.”

Derek frowned at her. “I do _not_ have droo—” He broke out of the sentence when his hand touched the wetness at the corner of his mouth. _Oh my god, I was drooling._ “I wasn’t drooling at _him_. This place is incredible.” Derek turned to Erica, frustrated at the knowing grin she was giving him.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

“ _I will_ ,” he spat back at her, sticking his tongue out for good measure. Erica snorted and fell back against the seat, typing furiously on the phone.

“Are you talking to Boyd?”

“Yeah, he said he got to the house just as Paige started throwing things out of the front door. She turned around and ran into the bedroom and didn’t come out until he was leaving.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“I will...eventually.” Erica’s fingers flew over the screen furiously.

“Wait...what do you mean, eventually?” Derek turned to her. “What are you telling him?”

“About how you’re a complete idiot.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what he could possibly have done in the last fifteen minutes to earn that assessment.

“Oh, don’t look at me with those caterpillar brows all confused, Hale. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Actually, I have no idea.”

Erica huffed and put her phone down, locking eyes with him. “The fact that we’re here, at this incredible hotel, within intimate proximity to the man that is probably the love of your life, and you’re going to throw it all away.”

“How is meeting Jackson throwing it all away?”

“ _Because you’re in love with Stiles._ ”

Derek’s mouth opened and closed and he sputtered out sounds as he tried to immediately argue with her—but nothing comprehensible seemed to come out. Finally, he spat out, “He’s a _liar_.”

Erica rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, like you’ve never made a mistake before.”

Derek huffed back at her. “Of _course_ I have, but I haven’t lied about something as important as _that_!”

“Look,” Erica put her hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I wasn’t asleep the entire drive down here. I heard you both talking—”

“—We were arguing, Erica.”

“Yeah, for like, ten minutes. But then you really _talked_. I’ve known you for your entire life, Der. You haven’t talked like that to anyone—not even me—since Laura. And you were flirting with him—”

“—I was _not_ flirting—”

“— _Batman is the better superhero?_  Come on, Derek. You went on an hour long rant about the superiority of the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe when I dared to wear a Wonder Woman shirt. You said that just to get a rise out of him. That, my friend, is flirting with him.” Derek opened his mouth to talk, but Erica cut him off. “Don’t tell me that it wasn’t. You don’t even know what flirting is anymore—you haven’t tried it since middle school, believe me, I would know.”

Derek frowned in frustration. Erica was right—he hadn’t flirted in a really long time. It was annoying that she knew that about him.

“Anyways,” Erica continued, “you guys—you and Stiles—have _it_. That thing that you’ve been missing for so long. Are you sure you want to risk it on some guy you don’t even know?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Erica pleaded. “This doesn’t make sense, Derek.”

“Yes it does—”

“—No, it doesn’t!” Erica was used to debating in court, to laying down an argument with precision. But she was running on pure emotion now, and her hands starting waving around as much as Stiles’ did. “Yeah, he made a mistake, but your focus on Jackson now is just...well, it’s just looking crazier and crazier—”

“I know, but—”

“—No! Derek! No buts! You know this is crazy. Why? Why are you so determined to see this thing through?”

“Because I—”

“—I mean, the reason had better be fucking _brilliant_ , because guys like that one?” She gestured towards the hotel. “Don’t come around all that often. So why, Derek?”

Derek felt the words burst out of him. “Because of Laura, alright!”

Erica looked surprised. “What?”

Derek sighed, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t usually talk out of emotion, so his thoughts felt scattered and unmoored, and he hated the feeling. But he was on a time limit—Stiles would be back out any minute, and he needed Erica to understand. He looked out the side window to keep his thoughts clear.

“The dream of Jackson is one of the last things between Laura and I that is still alive. She’s the one that encouraged me to love and be romantic and have a fairy tale. She wanted me to have destiny. To have this epic love. If I give up on it, I feel like…” The last words trailed out of his mouth at a near-whisper, “I feel like I’m giving up on _her_.”

He looked back to Erica, who stared at him with her mouth slightly open.

“Oh, Der…”

Neither of them saw Stiles until he was opening the driver’s side door, and Derek made a point to look out his window as he got back in.

Stiles looked back and forth between Erica and Derek, the mood in the car obviously tense. “Whoa. Are you guys alright?”

Derek cleared his throat and rubbed his hand down his face. “Yeah, we’re alright. What’d you find out?” He studiously ignored Erica, who sat unusually still in the back seat. They weren’t alright. He’d have to talk more about this with Erica soon enough—she wouldn’t let it go at that.

“Well, he’s here.”

Derek felt some emotional whiplash as his heart immediately started pounding again and his breath shortened. “He is? Are you sure?”

“Yep. He arrived here about 45 minutes ago, and is currently lounging by the pool. He’s wearing a white hat. I secured a couple of rooms for us, so I thought Erica and I could go drop off our things and you could go introduce yourself.”

Silence stretched out in the car and Derek’s mild panic kept him from moving, and Erica continued to sit still in the back seat. Stiles started to twitch nervously until Erica patted him on the shoulder. “Sounds good! I need to go to the bathroom.”

Derek found his way out of the car somehow, after Stiles told him the room number and how to get there. With a point in the direction of the pool, Stiles and Erica left him standing in front of the hotel, immobilized with nerves.

_You can do this. You can do this._

Derek moved one foot in front of the other, winding his way through the hotel, following the signs for the pool, until he emerged again outside, threading his way through incredible gardens until he reached the pool area.

He scanned the lounge chairs, passing over women in bikinis and old men in... _ew Speedos_...until he found an empty chaise with a white fedora on it. No Jackson, though. Derek began to get frustrated, until he heard a woman call out, “Jackson! See you tomorrow! Ciao!”

“Ciao, Giorgia!”

Derek followed the voice to watch a man emerging from the pool, the wet hair running down his body. Derek’s heart pounded as he watched him walk—thankfully _not_ wearing a Speedo—to the empty chaise and grabbed a towel from under the white fedora.

_That’s him._

Derek stood back for a moment, trying not to be a creeper, but wanting to get a look before making the move. He wasn’t too tall—about Derek’s height—and he had short cropped brown hair. He was pale and lean, not muscular, but he looked...fine. Nothing heart-stopping, but not ugly, either. _Looks don’t matter, Derek._

“Here I go,” he whispered to no one in particular, and walked around the pool to where Jackson was now lying down.

As he got closer, he realized that Jackson was actually on the skinny side. He didn’t look like much of a former athlete. _Maybe he’s just into his wine business—no time to work out anymore or something. Don’t judge, Derek._

Derek cleared his throat. “Umm...hi there. Are you Jackson Whittemore?”

Jackson didn’t open his eyes as he hummed his assent, and then turned his head and squinted at Derek. “You’re in my sun.”

“Huh?”

“You’re. In. My sun.”

Derek looked again, and sure enough, he was blocking the sun from hitting Jackson’s chest completely. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He moved over until Jackson’s pale body was in full sun.

“Thanks. I am not here for long so I want to get as much sun as possible.”

Derek found himself nodding. “Oh, sure. Sorry again.”

Jackson just hummed, his eyes closed. Derek stood, unsure of what to do next, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles walking into the pool area, looking around. Derek didn’t want to be seen floundering at this, so he sat on the chaise right next to Jackson, ignoring Stiles’ presence.

“This is a beautiful place.”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

Derek was a little annoyed that Jackson didn’t look at him at all, but he didn’t want it to show on his face so that Stiles would see, so he just..pressed on.

“Have you been here long?”

“I arrived today.”

“Oh, me too!”

“That’s nice.”

Derek felt like a complete idiot. Jackson still wouldn’t look at him, and Stiles had planted himself right in Derek’s eyeline, so when he looked up over Jackson’s body, the only thing he saw was Stiles’ face. Of course he was staring at Derek like a hawk, his eyebrow cocked.

_Damn you, Stiles._

Derek took a deep breath. He didn’t care how stupid he felt. This was his destiny, laying right in front of him, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

“I was wondering, do you have dinner plans?”

 _Finally_ , Jackson opened one eye to find Derek next to him. “Sort of.”

“Would you be willing to have dinner with me?”

Jackson opened his other eye, raising his head slightly to look at Derek. His eyes, Derek noticed, were green as well. Jackson looked him up and down for a few moments, Derek feeling more and more uncomfortable as the moments passed. He felt like he was being assessed. It wasn’t a great feeling, if he was honest with himself.

“Sure,” Jackson said with a shrug.

 _Well, don’t be so excited._ “Great!” Derek said with an exaggerated smile, knowing that Stiles was watching.

“I plan to eat tonight at Relais Le Jardin. It’s a couple of blocks away. I’ll meet you at 8?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, um...sure. Eight would be great.”

“Excellent. See you then.” Jackson laid back down on the chaise, completely ignoring Derek.

Derek stood, trying to mask the awkwardness he felt at being summarily dismissed, and walked out of the pool area, trying to keep his head held high. Stiles caught up with him.

“So? How’d it go with Destiny Boy?”

_Awful._

“It was great! I have a date tonight.”

Stiles’ steps faltered a bit, but he kept up with Derek’s strides. “That’s great, Derek.”

“Yeah, It’s great.”

But as they walked towards their rooms, Derek realized: _Jackson didn’t even ask me what my name was._

Stiles told him that he had a room next to the suite that Derek and Erica were sharing. Derek collapsed on his (incredibly comfortable) bed when he got back to his room, and he felt himself falling asleep almost immediately. The whole situation with Jackson made him weary. He took deep breaths, relaxing further into the bed below him.

“...Derek?”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up, Der.”

 _He fell asleep?_ He slowly opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s 6:30. What time is your dinner?”

Stiles’ head popped in the bedroom doorway. “He said 8:00. Is he still sleeping?”

“No, I’m not sleeping.” Derek rubbed his eyes and looked up to see Stiles looking at him warmly.

“Well, you’re perfectly adorable when you’re ‘not sleeping’. But you have a date to get to. Get a move on.”

Stiles disappeared from the doorway, and Derek pushed himself up, looking at Erica. “Has he been here the whole afternoon?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah. We explored the hotel together while you were sleeping.”

“You’ve been talking with him?” Derek didn’t even want to think about what Erica could have told Stiles in a few hours. Too much.

“He’s a nice guy—and you were down for the count,” Erica countered.

Stiles’ voice trailed in from the other room, “You snore so loud, dude!”

“I don’t snore!” he yelled. Then, to Erica, “Did you tell him I don’t snore?”

“I told him, but I had to practically yell over the ‘not-snoring’ you were doing.”

Derek scoffed. “Well, I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said defensively.

“Der, I’m teasing. Get up, you have to get ready.”

“Right.” He wanted to tell Erica that he wasn’t really looking forward to this date, after the awkward encounter at the pool—which he hadn’t told Erica about yet—but with Stiles right next door, he didn’t get the opportunity. So he dragged himself into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

He heard Erica’s voice filter through the door. “I’m going to go down and sit by the pool to work for a bit, Der. Stop by and see me on your way out, okay?”

“Okay!” he called back to her.

“And put together an outfit I would approve of, alright? I trust you know that jeans are _not_ an option, Derek Hale.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Derek smirked as he turned the water on. She was always looking out for him. He was kind of surprised that she was leaving him to his own devices, to be honest.

The shower refreshed and re-energized him, and he had taken the time in the warm spray to give Jackson another chance in his mind. Perhaps he had a rough day on his wine tour things. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Both things would have certainly affected his own mood—maybe Jackson’s short manner was a sign of a rough morning, too. He was ready to get down to dinner and give Fate another chance. Jackson was his destiny, he could _feel_ it.

He stepped out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around his waist, and went in search of his clothes. He tried not to let his nerves get in the way of his judgement. He knew that Erica wouldn’t hesitate to march him straight back up here to his room to change if she deemed his choices unworthy, so he had to really concentrate.  
  
“ _Whoa_.”

Derek jumped at the sound of Stiles’ voice in the doorway. He clamped a hand on his towel, making sure it didn’t slip off unexpectedly.

“Stiles! What are you still doing here?”

“Well, Erica made me promise to make sure you got out of here in a decent outfit before she made you come back up here and change.”

Derek looked Stiles over. He was wearing loose-fitting khakis that were slung low on his hips, and a graphic tee so worn that he could barely make out the Captain America logo.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. “And she trusted _you_ with that task?”

Stiles straightened up in the doorway. “Hey, don’t let this loungewear fool you. I have got _game_ when it comes to looking good on date night. My best friend in high school got her talons in me, and trust me—when she speaks, you’d better fucking listen.”

Derek started to look through the bureau for his clothes that Erica had hung up, trying not to be too aware that only a fluffy towel stood between him and complete nakedness in front of Stiles. “That’s Lydia, right?”

“Yep. Love of my life for the larger part of my adolescence. Thankfully she didn’t hold that against me.”

Derek found boxer-briefs in one of the drawers, but couldn’t find the pair of black pants he had been wearing in Venice. He started shoving the clothes around, when he heard a throat-clearing noise from Stiles. He looked up to see Stiles holding the pants with a smirk on his face.

Derek strode over to him and took the pants. Thankfully, they didn’t look like they needed to be pressed—he was running out of time.

He looked at Stiles in the doorway. “I need to get dressed.”

“Yeah, you do.” Stiles leaned against the doorway.

“Then...can you go?” Derek looked at him expectantly, and Stiles just smirked at him again.

“Nope.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “What?”

Stiles raised his hands in defense. “Look. Erica threatened me within an inch of my life. I believe her exact words were, ‘Do not leave him to his devices for one second or I will cut off your balls and feed them to you.’ Sorry, but I’m pretty attached to my balls, so I’m staying.”

Derek flushed with embarrassment. _Damn you, Erica_. “Well, can you at least turn around so I can put my underwear on?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, go back in the bathroom and put on your pants. I’ll find the rest of your outfit.”

Derek looked at him suspiciously. No matter what Stiles said about Lydia’s tutorials, he still didn’t believe that this guy would be able to pull together an Erica-approved outfit. But, time didn’t allow him to be obstinate about it, so he headed back into the bathroom.

He was just pulling up his pants when there was a knock at the door. “I have your shirt for you.”

Derek opened the door just slightly, and Stiles’ arm thrust into the space with a crisp white t-shirt in his grip. Derek took it, and closed the door again when Stiles’ arm withdrew.

He was pulling the t-shirt over his ribs when there was another knock. Derek opened the door slightly again. “Here’s your dress shirt.” This time, a crisp white Oxford came through the space in the door. “I already ironed it, just put it on and come out.”

Derek felt a little silly, but he couldn’t help the gratefulness he felt, too. He didn’t have time to iron right now. He didn’t want to be late for the date—he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jackson would be annoyed by that.

His shirt buttoned and tucked, he stepped out of the bathroom to see Stiles with a maroon tie in his hand. “Come here.”

Derek held out his hand, but Stiles stepped back and pulled the tie out of his reach. Derek rolled his eyes. “I can put on my own tie, Stiles.”

“My balls are at risk, Derek. I’m not taking any chances.” Stiles stepped forward again and draped the tie over Derek’s neck, then started to work, tucking it under his collar and adjusting the length. “Plus, this is a date with destiny, right? Gotta make sure that everything’s perfect. “

Derek stood still, watching Stiles’ face work in concentration as his fingers deftly worked on the knot. He tried not to notice Stiles’ long eyelashes, or his hair that came so close to tickling Derek’s nose. He tried not to notice how Stiles smelled—not at all delicious, he had to tell himself. Derek’s heart started to pick up the pace, and he eventually tore his gaze away to look at something else—anything other than the beautiful man in front of him.

“There,” Stiles stepped back to admire his work. “Perfect.”

Derek’s heart skipped again when he looked back to see Stiles gazing at him appreciatively. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the breathless silence extended until Stiles shook his head and gathered a couple of things from the top of the dresser, handing them out for Derek to take.

“Socks. There’s your shoes,” he pointed to the floor. “Lemme get your jacket.”

Derek sat down, his head swimming a bit from the moment. He pulled on his socks and shoes, and stood up just as Stiles got back to him, holding out the collar of a jacket for him to pull on. Derek looked at it, confused.

“That’s not mine.”

“I know. This one’s mine.” _Wait, what?_ Derek was unsure about this—would Erica approve? He must have given away his feelings on his face, because Stiles snorted with laughter.

“Trust me, dude. I’m betting my balls that this is Erica-approved.”

He inclined his head, and Derek turned around so Stiles could pull the jacket up over his shoulders. It wasn’t what Derek would normally wear, not by a long shot. The sleeves were _leather_ , for god’s sake. And the front was a mottled black-and-white pattern in some kind of knit. And it had a _zipper_ , of all things. Derek was sure he looked like a fucking idiot, but it wasn’t _his_ balls on the line, so he couldn’t freak out now.

Stiles’ hands lingered on Derek’s shoulders, adjusting out the collar around the tie and pulling on him a bit to get him to turn back around. His hands ran down the jacket, and Derek tried not to remember the night before, when Stiles had been doing the same thing to him, with much different intentions. His heart raced at the memory, and he looked at Stiles’ mouth, slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Derek pulled his gaze to Stiles’ eyes, but he studiously looked away, checking Derek’s outfit up and down.

Derek had to concentrate to shake his thoughts back to where they should be. On Jackson. On their impending date. Stiles was making it difficult, his assessing looks just so stinking endearing. He was really working hard to make sure that Derek looked good, which really, just said so much about who he was as a person. I mean, he had told Derek last night that he was in love with him. Which was nonsense, really. But to then help get the person he “loved” ready for a date with someone else? Derek couldn’t figure out why he would do it—but he was thankful for it anyway.

“You’re missing something.”

“I am?” Derek finally stepped over and looked in the mirror. He had to admit—the jacket didn’t make sense in his brain, but _on_ him? He looked pretty good. Really good, actually. Stiles had good taste. Derek tended to wear basic black/white/gray combos in his everyday life (hard to make color-matching mistakes when all the colors go together), but the maroon tie was a nice touch, and the jacket made him look way more put-together than he would be on a regular basis.

“Yeah, here. I picked this up when Erica and I were out today.”

Stiles pulled a silver bar out of his pocket, affixing it to Derek’s tie, and stepped back to take in the whole picture, his assessing eyes not giving anything away.

Derek pulled his shoulders back and stood up straight, trying not to give into the nervousness and pull on his tie.

“How do I look?” His voice was soft and shaky, more unsure than he would like. He wanted to project confidence here, give the impression that he wasn’t rattled by Stiles’ gaze, and his voice was giving him away.

“That jacket looks much better on you than it does on me. Your arms fill it out better. You look... _wow_. You look really good.”

“Thanks.” Derek felt the tips of his ears flush with the praise. “Look, I just...need to say thank you? For making all of this possible.”

“Sure.” Stiles shrugged, appearing nonchalant. “It’s the least I could do.”

Derek watched Stiles’ look change from nonchalant to something else, something Derek couldn’t identify until Stiles stepped forward again, into Derek’s space, adjusting his tie under the new tie clip.

“I just....I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Derek’s heart broke a bit as he studied the look in Stiles’ eyes. Then it came to him. He looked...broken, like the façade of nonchalantly helping Derek had fallen away, and he was finally getting to see exactly how Stiles felt about the whole prospect of him walking out of the room and into the company of someone else. He wanted away from that look. It was too much right now.

“Stiles…stop.” Derek started to back away, but Stiles followed him, entreating.

“Look, just...no matter what happens tonight, I want you to know I love you.”

Derek’s breath hitched at the confession. _That’s not possible. No one falls in love that fast._

Stiles' hands returned to the shoulders of Derek's jacket, smoothing invisible wrinkles. "I know that sounds crazy. It sounds crazy to me to say it. No one falls in love this fast, right? But everything about you and me feels right."

Derek locked eyes with Stiles, and he almost buckled with the pleading look he found there. Stiles' voice dropped to a near whisper, "Please. Forget this whole thing. Stay here. With me." 

Derek wanted to say yes. He wanted to wrap his arms around Stiles' waist and bury his face in his neck. But he thought of Laura, and he...couldn't do it. He had to see this man that Fate picked for him.

His own voice was quiet and hesitant. "I have to go.”

Derek watched the walls fall back into place in Stiles’ eyes. “Yeah. Time to go meet your destiny.”

They walked in silence down to the pool area, where Erica was seated at one of the cabanas, typing on her laptop. She smiled with approval when Derek approached, giving him a peck on the cheek and an encouraging word before hurrying him off. He was going to be late, unless he walked really quickly.

The restaurant wasn’t far away, just a few blocks on the narrow streets outside of the hotel estate. Derek searched the crowded outdoor patio at the restaurant for Jackson, who was looking at his phone and managed to look up at just the right time. He stood and waved his hand, and Derek took a deep breath before walking towards him, trying to ignore the steady pounding of his heart in his chest. _This is it. Finally._

Jackson looked nice. He was wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants, and was wearing narrow glasses with his hair spiked in the front. His skin had a slightly red tint to it—evidence of the time in the sun. Derek smiled at him and extended his hand.

“Good evening, Jackson.” Jackson grabbed Derek’s hand and shook it firmly in return.

“Good evening…?”

“Derek.”

“Yes, Derek.” They released hands and Jackson gestured for Derek to take the seat across from him. “I’m sorry for my behavior at the pool earlier. I had a long day and I was irritated. I realized I hadn’t even gotten your name.”

_Oh, thank god. I knew it had to be some excuse._

“I’ve had a lot of days like that. It’s not a big deal.”

Jackson smiled, and Derek noticed his eyes had more warmth when he smiled.

Derek’s heart was pounding, and as much as he tried to relax, he found that he was having a hard time. It was frustrating, because the surroundings couldn’t be more perfect: the restaurant was a candle-lit marvel, with a flower-and-greenery-lined patio and warm light filtering from the interior of the restaurant with it’s floor-to-ceiling windows. They were in freaking Florence, Italy, and he was sitting at dinner with the man he had been dreaming about since he was ten, and he just...couldn’t relax.

“Now, you’re probably going to think this is crazy,” Jackson said. “But I noticed you at the pool, even before we spoke.”

“Really?” Derek had a hard time believing it. Jackson hadn’t even opened his eyes when they had talked.

“Truly. I could sense a chemistry between us.” Jackson smirked, a self-satisfied look on his face, and took the wine menu in hand. Derek tried not to roll his eyes at the ridiculously cheesy line. Derek watched Jackson carefully as he looked over the wine menu. Cheesy line aside, Derek was excited—Jackson was the owner of a winery, so of course he would have excellent taste in wines. When the waiter approached their table, Jackson said, “Do you have a good house red?”

Derek frowned. _House red?_ Even _he_ could’ve ordered better than that, and he knows next-to-nothing about wine.

Derek downed a glass when the waitress returned, the bitter taste making him cringe. He looked up at Jackson again, hoping to get the conversation started—so far it had just been awkward pauses. “So, um...you’re probably wondering why I asked you to dinner.”

“No, not really.” Jackson grasped his wine glass between three fingers, holding his pinky finger high in the air— _seriously, who does that?_ —and took a pretentious sip. “Happens all the time.”

Derek blinked in surprise, then turned his attention back to the menu. “What do you think you’re going to order?”

“Hmm…” Jackson looked over the menu, then back up to Derek. “I think I’m going to get the ricciola.”

“Oh!” Derek smiled, happy to find something they have in common. “You like fish? I like fish!”

“Excellent.” Jackson smiled thinly, then returned to the menu.

Derek took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly into his menu. It had been less than twenty minutes, and already Derek knew that this whole thing was a colossal mistake. After they had both ordered, Derek felt even more sure about it. Jackson was...well, he was a jerk. A condescending, lascivious jerk. He talked to the waitress like she was some kind of second-class citizen, looking down his glasses at her and sighing audibly when she wasn’t sure about his excessive order specifications. Then, when the waitress was finally able to leave, Jackson leveled him with a look that made Derek all kinds of uncomfortable.

Derek had gotten looks like this before, from random strangers and the like—his body was fit, and so as much as Derek hated it, it kind of came with the territory. But Jackson seemed to be taking it one step further. He was looking at Derek like he wanted to devour him, and not in a good way. Derek cleared his throat uncomfortably, and tried to think of anything to say to get his attention away from his chest and his arms.

“So, umm...what kind of movies do you like? What kind of books do you read?”

“I like foreign-language films.”

“Oh, nice.” Derek had nothing _against_ foreign-language films, but they weren’t really movies that he watched all that often, so he didn’t have anything to add. He picked up his wine glass, loathe to take another drink of the terrible liquid, but also searching for something to do with his hands. “Any in particular?”

“I particularly enjoy French erotic films.”

Derek nearly choked on the wine in his glass. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, I do. I think you’d enjoy them, too.”

Derek wanted to gag again, with the look that Jackson was giving him. This was...a waste of time. There couldn’t possibly be anyone further from him compatibility-wise. Derek was torn between sticking this date out, which carried the potential of Derek chewing off his own arm in frustration, or fleeing immediately back to the hotel and into his sweats.

He heard Jackson begin to drone on about the latest film he watched, and Derek tried to pay attention, but instead he found himself imagining the walk back to his room, taking in the architecture of the hotel grounds. He longed to go for a swim in the pool, do a few laps, maybe dunk Stiles a few times to watch him spout and sputter. Curli up with him on the couch in the en suite, tangling their legs together on the couch as they warmed their toes on each other’s legs, Stiles’ head thrown back in laughter at some Edgar Wright comedy dubbed in Italian, sharing a bag of popcorn and slowly moving towards each other until Derek’s arm was thrown on the couch behind Stiles’ head, which had come to rest on his shoulder. It was with a jolt that he realized he had included Stiles in his fantasy. With Stiles, it would be perfect. It would be comfortable and pleasant in every single way that this evening was turning out _not_ to be. He and Stiles were effortless. Yeah, Stiles had lied about his name. But they _fit_. Erica knew it, and deep down, Derek knew it, too.

He had to end this date. He didn’t want to sit in this restaurant a minute longer when he knew that the perfect man for him was sitting in a room less than a mile away.

Derek was so caught up in his fantasy that it was a moment or two before he felt it: a movement against his leg, and he realized in horror that Jackson was running his foot up Derek’s leg.

Derek set the glass down as gently as possible, and moved his hand under the table, shoving Jackson’s foot back.

“That makes me uncomfortable.”

Jackson’s face appeared contrite. “Oh, really? You look like you’re really into it. Is this what you want instead?” Derek felt Jackson’s hand sliding up the inside of his leg, and Derek immediately jumped back and shoved away from the table.

“Whoa! No, _stop_!”

Derek looked at Jackson in shock. He had never had anyone try to grab him like that before, much less someone he didn’t even know. He was about to tell Jackson off completely, when a yell erupted from behind him.

“What the hell, dude?”

Derek’s head snapped around at Stiles’ voice. He didn’t even have time to register why Stiles would be at the restaurant in the first place, when a flash of dark flew past him, and suddenly, Jackson was flying backwards over his seat.

Stiles had _punched Jackson._

To Derek’s horror (and the rest of the restaurant’s, as everyone was suddenly wildly aware of what was happening), Stiles was rearing up to punch Jackson again. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, hauling him backward. Stiles’ face was beet red in anger, and he was yelling at Jackson, who was holding his nose, and pulling himself up from the floor.

“What the hell, man?” Jackson pulled a napkin off the table and held it up to his nose, his glasses askew.

Stiles continued to struggle in Derek’s arms. “I’ll kill you! You can not treat him that way.”

Derek shoved Stiles backwards, standing between the two men in complete shock. He was searching his brain frantically for what to do. The suddenness of the punch had him completely confused. He had his arms out, holding Stiles back, but facing Jackson, whose eyes had no more of the warmth that they had hinted at earlier. Now they were just venomous. He pointed at Stiles.

“ _You’re_ the one who told me to go out with him!”

Stiles leaned over Derek’s shoulder, pointing back at Jackson. “I told you to _go out_ with him, Adrian, not to _grope_ him and act like a total douchebag.”

Derek stood upright, the words from Stiles’ mouth finally breaking through his shock.

“Wait, what?” He turned back to Stiles, whose face was still red and angry. “Who’s Adrian?”

Stiles looked momentarily stunned, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Derek looked back at Jackson, who looked completely put out and not at all amused. He threw the bloody napkin back down onto the table and leveled his eyes on Derek.

“Yeah, my name is Adrian Harris. Your little friend here?” He pointed to Stiles. “Paid me to take you out.”

“You’re not Jackson Whittemore?”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “No.”

It felt like all of the sound had been sucked out of the restaurant, which was amazing, considering the other restaurant patrons were all chattering and standing, and the restaurant employees were scurrying around and security officers were headed their way. Derek’s ears filtered all of it out, and the only thing he could hear in his ears was his rapid heartbeat, and his labored breathing.

_This whole thing. Was another lie._

He...he had to get out.

Now.

He blindly pushed past Jackson and Stiles, only vaguely aware of them talking to him, of someone calling after him, but he just fled the restaurant in a hazed panic. When he made his way out of the patio area, he looked around, confused about which direction would take him home.

But he isn’t home.

He’s in Florence, surrounded by unfamiliarity and uncertainty, and all he could think of was how he had been lied to. Again.

His feet stumbled down the path, and in the back of his mind, he hoped he was heading in the general direction of his hotel, because he couldn’t think of anything solid right now.

He did register footsteps behind him, and a voice broke through his haze.

“Derek! Wait!”

It was Stiles. Stiles, who had lied to him. _Again_.

The panicked breathing and the pounding heartbeat still rang in his ears, but now it was accompanied by a blind fury. He stopped abruptly and turned around, Stiles nearly running smack into his chest in the process. He stepped back, his hands out in surrender.

“You.” Derek struggled to control the anger in his voice, and as a result, his tone was strangled in his throat. He wanted to reach out and pound on Stiles’ face. It took everything he had not to give into the impulse. “You—”

“—I can explain.”

Derek didn’t want to hear it. He turned around again, walking as quickly as he could. Away from Stiles. Away from the humiliation.

“Okay, wait!” Stiles ran in front of Derek, turning to stop him, and even though Derek wanted to bowl right through him, he also didn’t want to touch him, so he pulled up short. Stiles’ face was in a panic, his eyes pleading. “Derek, I--I was afraid!”

Derek searched Stiles’ eyes, looking for the insanity that must surely be there. Only someone truly insane would come up with something like this.

Stiles nearly shouted, “I was so afraid of losing you!”

Derek’s fists clenched, and he couldn’t help the yell that burst out of his mouth. “It’s too late for that!”

Derek took a step towards Stiles, breathing slowly in and out through his nose to try to contain his anger. Stiles flinched at the look in Derek’s eyes, but he stood his ground, his face vulnerable and afraid.

Derek quieted his voice, the anger dripping off of his words. “ _Too late_ , Stiles. You lost me when you lied to me. _Again_.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped, the weight of Derek’s words like an anvil, pressing him into the cobblestones. His voice was barely above a whisper, broken and halting. “I...I don’t know-- I don’t know what came over me. I…”

Stiles eyes were wide open, his vulnerability flayed open into the space between them. He locked eyes with Derek and pleaded, “I’m sorry.”

Derek huffed a disbelieving exhale. Sorry wasn’t enough. Sorry would ever be enough for Derek to forget this. He felt his armor sliding back into place, uncomfortable, but still familiar. He felt his lip curl instinctively as he let the anger fill him.

“Get the fuck away from me, Stiles. I never want to see you again.”

Derek’s armor threatened to fall off when he watched Stiles’ entire essence crumble into pieces in front of him. The inner light that seemed to radiate out of Stiles at every moment was extinguished in one moment, and the change was startling. But Derek straightened his shoulders against the sympathy he might have felt, the armor falling back around his heart, and he turned and strode away from him. Away from everything.

Stiles, blessedly, didn’t chase him. The only thing that followed Derek was silence, punctuated by the echoes of his footsteps on the cobblestones. Just before he rounded the corner to the hotel villa, he thought he heard a broken sob from the street behind him. But he wouldn’t turn to see. He wouldn’t look back now.

All the dampened sound from earlier seemed to rush back to his brain all at once. And it was too much.

How could he have been so stupid? To really believe that Stiles, who had already proved to be a liar, would agree to help him find Jackson? He must be a complete and total idiot.

What would Laura think of all this? Would she still talk to him about true love and destiny, even after something like this? Fate seemed determine to take Derek into her mouth, chew him up until all of his insides mixed with his outsides and she spit him back out. It’s how his heart felt at that moment...like it had been chewed up and spit out into a wadded mess on the floor of a fancy restaurant in Florence.

He couldn’t believe in anything anymore. Destiny, fate, soulmates and true love, it was all bullshit. He’d go back home, and fall into Paige’s arms, begging for her forgiveness. He’d get married and have a life with her, and everything would be fine. This whole, fucked-up nonsense would be over, and he would never have to think of the name Jackson Whittemore ever again.

Or the name Stiles Stilinski.

The tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden, and not soon enough, he was at the door of his room. He pounded on the door, unable to find the strength to search for his key in his wallet, and when Erica opened the door, she took one look at him and opened her arms.

With a loud sob, he fell into her embrace, his tears dripping down his face and staining another one of Boyd’s shirts. He couldn’t bring it within himself to care.

  


***********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Derek!
> 
> His date outfit is this amazing outfit that Tyler Hoechlin wore for the August Man photo shoot: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/a4/aa/72/a4aa72fd1dcd697687fd1abbb731500d--hello-gorgeous-beautiful.jpg
> 
> I'm thinking there's one more chapter left...let me know what you think? Will Derek be able to forgive Stiles? Will he ever find the REAL Jackson?


	6. Starting Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the delay with this chapter. Life got in the way in a serious manner, and it just couldn't be helped.
> 
> Plus, there's the whole completely-rewrite-the-shitty-ending-of-a-movie thing, and it just...took a while to hammer out the details and get it to where I was happy.
> 
> But, what that means is...this isn't the last chapter anymore.
> 
> I know! I know! I'm sorry! 
> 
> I mean, I'm not sorry for more content, but I'm sorry this isn't the end!
> 
> The great thing is that the end WILL BE next chapter, and it IS all worked out and over half-written. I just didn't want this chapter to be 15k, and that is definitely where it was headed, so I broke it up into two smaller, more manageable parts.
> 
> Final note, I was in AGONY over this. I mean, Stiles didn't leave things in a very good place AT ALL, and it was really hard to figure out how he could possibly be redeemed. I *hope* I got close to doing it justice. There's still a little bit left, but I would love your comments.
> 
> Okay...on to it!

 

 

******************************

Derek and Erica were lying side-by-side in his bed, the morning light shining through the window. He had fallen asleep sometime in the midnight hour after finally convincing her not to knock down the door of Stiles’ suite and “feed him his own balls in a smoothie,” in her oh-so-eloquent words. Now they laid awake, the morning sun having roused them out of sleep, but neither ready to move quite yet. They both stared at the ceiling, and Derek found his brain sluggish to begin the day, still trudging through the painful memories of the night before.

“Do you regret coming here?”

Erica had turned her head towards him as she asked the question, the look of concern evident on her face.

Derek turned back to her, taking a deep breath as he processed his answer. _Did_ he regret it? There was so much that had gone wrong. So much. But now, hours had passed and with the newness of the morning, he found more perspective. Yes, everything that had happened was truly terrible. To be lied to—to be taken advantage of—left him with horrible feelings of betrayal. But also, he hadn’t felt as truly alive as he had the last few days. Traveling in a beautiful country, expanding his horizons, taking risks, opening his heart up to someone else, making a connection with someone again—a connection the likes of which he had never made with his fiancée—those things were real. Those things were valuable. Those things were important.

They made the entire experience worth it.

Erica was still looking at him, her concern growing as he remained silent in his thoughts. He softened his eyes at her as he answered.

“No, I don’t.”

Erica exhaled and smiled a little half-smile as she grabbed onto Derek’s hand that laid beside her. “I was so worried. I thought maybe... this whole thing would break you.”

Derek stared at the ceiling for a few moments. He felt a little broken; well, maybe broken wasn’t the right word. More like...changed. Like the traumas of the last few days had chiseled some channels into his heart, but they didn’t shatter it. He actually felt like his heart, built up over time with hard layers of stone, needed chiseling so he could feel again. He hadn’t felt in so long, it was like his emotions were in atrophy. He turned back to Erica, who was looking him in concern, and he shook his head. “Chasing even the _possibility_ of...whatever this could have been? Has been better than anything I’ve done since Laura died.” Derek squeezed her hand. “Thank you for coming with me.”

She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “You’re welcome.” She turned onto her side, taking a deep breath and leveling him with a serious look. “Okay, look. You mentioned something in passing last night, and I’ll support you 100%, you know that, right? But... _please_ don’t get back together with Paige. Don’t do it while you’re still hurt from this. Really think about it, okay?”

Erica had been in his life longer and more faithfully than anyone else, and in all that time, never once had she told him exactly what to do. She always had his best interests at heart, and even when he knew she was dying to boss him around, she had always left him to make his own choices. Erica trusted him to do what was right for himself, even when she thought he was being an idiot. But in this case, it seemed she finally had to take a stand. Derek considered her words carefully.

In his anger and betrayal haze last night, he wanted to run home and pick everything back up that he had thrown away in the last few days. Go back to Paige, go back to living on ice. Go back to what was safe and familiar.

But now, the thought of doing that made him feel sick. He couldn’t go back to who he was. Everything that had happened had changed him. There were horrible aspects of it, of course. But he had never felt more sure of anything than when he had broken up with Paige. Going back with her would be a step backwards, and he knew he couldn’t do it.

Derek squeezed her hand, assuring her. “I’m not going to get back together with Paige. That would be more of a mistake than anything we’ve done here in Italy.”

Erica exhaled in relief, her eyes full of care. “It has been so nice seeing your heart opened up again. I’ve missed you, Der. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out here.”

Derek gave her a soft smile. “No, no...don’t be sorry. I guess...sometimes life just can’t be a fairytale.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Erica lifted her head towards the door, her eyes flashing at it in anger. “I’m gonna kill that fucker.” She started to rise off the bed, but Derek stopped her.

“No, I’ll get it.”

“Are you sure?” Erica asked, continuing to get up, but Derek stopped her with a hand and a nod.

He steeled himself for the confrontation with Stiles, running quickly through what he could say, but when he opened the door, he was surprised to find someone altogether different from Stiles.

“Hey Erica?” he called to her.

“Yeah?”

Derek stepped back from the doorway. “I may not have gotten the fairytale guy—but you certainly did.”

“What do you mean?” He heard her ask as she pushed off the bed.

“Someone’s here to see you.” He shook Boyd’s hand, ushering him into the room. Erica’s eyes lit up at the sight of her tall, dark, and handsome husband.

“Oh my God!”

Derek managed to step back just in time for a blonde whirlwind to streak by and bound into Boyd’s arms. Their mutual laughter warmed Derek’s heart.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Erica’s voice was muffled as she was wrapped around him like a koala, and Boyd’s chuckle brought a smile to Derek’s face.

“Well, it’s kind of miserable without you.” Boyd’s deep voice rumbled around the room. “Surprise, baby.”

Derek side-stepped around the happy couple, putting a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here, brother. I’m going to go check out.”

Erica called out over Boyd’s shoulder as the door shut behind Derek, “Don’t let that fucker stiff us with the bill!"

Derek prepared himself for the trip down to the front desk: running into Stiles, having to pay an atrociously high hotel bill, running into Jackson-slash-Adrian again, but his worries were for naught, as he saw neither hide nor hair of anyone familiar—and in a pleasant surprise, the hotel bill was completely paid.

“The gentleman settled the bill last night and said to simply give you his apologies,” the concierge said, reading the words from a card before handing it to Derek.

Derek’s heart ached as he took the note, the simple, “Tell him I’m sorry. -SS” in a messy scrawl on a blank hotel notecard. Derek found his fingers tracing the lettering on the card, his fingers feeling the indentation of the pen. He pocketed the card in his jacket and asked the concierge to arrange transportation to the airport. He’d catch the next flight out—he had some projects back home that were calling his name, and he was ready to get back into creating again.

Boyd and Erica tried to get Derek to stay with them in Italy, tour a bit more. But even though Derek didn’t regret his time in Italy, he was also more than ready to go. Plus, the way that Boyd and Erica were draped over each other in the lobby of the hotel, barely coming up for air, Derek didn’t think they’d miss his presence _too_ much. Erica did express concern for him, but he assured her he’d be fine.

He forgot about the trip home.

He was able to find a reasonably early flight, considering he bought a ticket at the counter, and then searched the airport for something that would knock him out cold. When no over-the-counter remedies could be found, he settled for a few Rusty Nails at the bar. Erica always made fun of his “old man drink”, but it was guaranteed to settle his nerves quickly. The bartender gave him eyes across the counter, but Derek ignored them. The last thing he wanted was to make any kind of connection. He wanted to get home and drown himself in work.

Fourteen hellish hours later, he finally arrived back to his apartment in Beacon Hills, and nearly tripped on the pile of things that Boyd had deposited in the middle of his living room. One of the engagement pictures from the photo session that Paige had insisted upon was lying on top of the pile in a frame, almost mocking him. He turned it so it faced downward on the pile, and dragged himself into his bedroom to flop on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

The thing about dropping everything and running last-minute to Italy is that everything you were working on before you left will be waiting impatiently for your return. The messages on his answering service and the emails on his work computer were numbering in the hundreds when he opened them in his office the next morning, and Derek had never been happier to have a distraction. He wanted to dive into work, forget about Italy.

Forget about Stiles.

It seemed like it would be simple. He had only known Stiles for a total of two days. He should be easy to forget.

But it wasn’t. He seemed to see Stiles everywhere. Everything reminded Derek of him. The ad for the newest Avengers movie. A new exhibit coming to the museum where Stiles worked had an advertisement in the local newspaper. A tiny Fiat drove past the big picture window of Derek’s Main Street office.  He’d see kids at the park playing lacrosse and wondering what Stiles had looked like in his jersey in high school. Even the damn Olive Garden commercials that seemed to play every 15 minutes made Derek’s heart yearn for Italy—yearn for _Stiles_.

One day he found himself drawing design plans for a new office building in town and wondering if Stiles had read the latest arts education reform initiative that was mentioned on the radio. When he went to deliver plans to his client, he absentmindedly grabbed the maroon tie from his closet and affixed the silver tie pin that Stiles had given him. He tried not to remember the long fingers that helped him put it on the last time. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he went in his closet and also found the leather-sleeved jacket from that night. He didn’t even remember bringing it back from Italy, but he must’ve shoved it into his bag without even realizing it.

The most obvious thing that reminded him of Stiles happened one night after he left work. It had been a late evening of design, a deadline pressing down on him so rapidly that he hadn’t even realized he’d skipped lunch, his body only fueled by coffee since he had last refilled his cup at 11am. He could barely concentrate, just wanting to get home, grab something quick to eat and crash. So when he saw the flashing lights behind him after turning off the main street, he honestly had no idea why he had been pulled over.

“License and registration, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Derek handed over the documents, resigning himself to more late nights to cover the cost of the ticket he probably deserved.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, Mr….Hale?”

“No, sir.” Derek responded, as the officer outside shined his flashlight into the car, and Derek squinted at it

“ _Derek_ Hale?” the officer asked, his surprised tone accompanying the blinding light.

“Yes, sir.”

“Derek Hale,” the officer mumbled. “Well, I’ll be damned.” The light lowered from Derek’s face, and he blinked a few times before turning to the man outside the window.

Derek looked at the officer, an older gentleman with lines in his forehead and deep smile lines around his eyes, which stood in contrast to the disgruntled look Derek saw reflected in them. He was older, but his sandy brown hair was still styled cleanly, and he had an air of superiority about him. Any other time, Derek figured he’d probably find this guy nursing a cold one at the sports bar. But now, he’s staring at Derek with an inscrutable look on his face—almost as if he didn’t know what to do, even though he was the one that pulled Derek over.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, it’s just...my son talked about you.” The officer shook his head and muttered under his breath, “My _idiot_ son.”

Derek’s eyes widened as he took in the name Stilinski on the officer’s lapel.

Son.

Sheriff Stilinski.

_Stiles’ dad._

Derek’s heart immediately began racing. Stiles’ dad knew Derek’s name. Which meant Stiles had talked about him.

_Oh, god._

He heard a loud, exhaling sigh from the officer, and Derek felt his eyebrows scrunching together in response. He had no idea what to do in this situation. He suddenly felt like running—but he was also pulled over by the Sheriff. If there was a time that he could be literally and figuratively handcuffed in place, this was it. He didn’t want to explain, but how could he not? It was an officer of the law he was talking to now, not just Stiles’ dad. He began to stumble ungracefully through a response.

“Look, sir. I don’t know what he told you, but...Italy was really hard for me, so I’d rather not—”

“—aw hell, kid. I’m not gonna....” The Sheriff sighed and roughed his free hand around the back of his neck, a mannerism so eerily similar to his son that Derek had to look away. “What happened wasn’t your fault. In fact, I’d like to apologize on his behalf.”

Derek was sure he wasn’t hiding any of the incredulousness he felt. It was probably written on his face as clear as day, since Sheriff Stilinski continued.

“My son can be a right idiot sometimes...A _lot_ of times. His nickname growing up was “mischief”. He was always getting into trouble. The stuff that he and his best friend got into…” The sheriff drifted off, but looked astutely at Derek. “Apparently he’s still causing trouble.”

Derek tried to be patient—after all, his clean driving record was at stake—but he really didn’t want to be hearing any of this. Thinking of Stiles as often as he did was hard enough. But hearing his dad defend him? It was almost too much to bear.

“...but you don’t care about any of that. And you shouldn’t. My son treated you terribly. There’s no excuse for it, other than he’s an idiot. I don’t expect you to forgive him.”

Derek was surprised. He figured Stiles’ dad would make excuses for his son. But for him to basically acknowledge that his son was an idiot? That was unexpected.

“He’s always gotten into trouble. This time, he got himself in a hole he can’t talk himself out of. But, he’s always had a good heart. _Always_. You twisted him up pretty good. Never seen him like this before.”

Derek’s gaze was locked on his knuckles, which had tightened around the steering wheel. He didn’t want to hear about Stiles’ good heart. Because...as much as it pained him...Derek _knew_. Stiles was a good man. The way he talked about his dad, his mom, growing up in a small town, his passion for art and education—all of the things they talked about on their drive showed Derek pieces of who he was as a man. A man that made obviously stupid, impulsive, irrational decisions, yes. But—at heart, a good man.

Derek didn’t want to admit this to himself—he actively tried to keep the good parts of Stiles out of his memory—but he couldn’t help it. He remembered almost going back to Stiles in Italy. His dream of leaving the disastrous date and spending the rest of the evening wrapped up in Stiles’ arms. And now, hearing from the Sheriff about how good of a heart Stiles had only chipped away at the armor surrounding Derek’s heart, causing a familiar, dull ache to return. The ache that busyness and distraction had only partially concealed since he returned from Italy. He needed to clamp down on it fast, before the feelings ran away with him and he did something stupid, like asking the Sheriff for Stiles’ number.

 _No._ Stiles abused his trust. And made Derek look like an idiot. Stiles crafted an intricate lie to throw doubt on Derek’s entire life for his own personal gain.

Stiles is twisted up?

 _Good_.

Join the club.

A throat-clearing noise from the Sheriff drew Derek from his thoughts. “Anyways. I’m sorry about my stupid idiot son. I’ll let you go with that.” He handed Derek’s documents back through the window, giving him a half-smile. “Also, try to come to a complete stop at the light next time, alright?”

Derek couldn’t speak. He simply nodded and swallowed thickly as the officer disappeared into the lights behind Derek’s car. Several deep breaths later, he turned the key with shaky hands and drove the rest of the way home. He didn’t sleep well that night. It was becoming a pattern.

Derek’s life became a lesson in routine and mediocrity. He would get coffee, head into work, take calls, respond to emails, create design specs and host client meetings all for a minimum of eight hours (very quickly it stretched to at least ten), went to the gym, home to eat, sleep.

Rinse, wash, repeat. He lulled himself into a pattern of normality that kept his emotions in check. He didn’t run into Sheriff Stilinski again, though the sight of any of the Sheriff Department’s vehicles made his heart skip a beat.

He hired a new kid, Mason, a “brand builder” (whatever that is. Erica said he needed it, no matter the cost.), who spent the first 3 days at work asking Derek about his mission and vision for the company and taking more photos than Derek thought he could ever possibly need. Derek had just started to wonder if Erica was pranking him when Mason scheduled a meeting to show what he came up with. He was admittedly reluctant, but found himself impressed with the sleek new “online presence”, as Mason called it. Derek didn’t really know what that meant, but he did know that the website and social media accounts that looked sleek and professional (that he didn’t have to manage) would only help expand his work, and he reluctantly agreed with Erica that Mason was worth every penny. Even Derek had to admit that the pictures of the Hale House looked good on InstaFace (“It’s Insta _Gram_ , Derek. _Jesus_. Get in this century, please,” Erica had said through a mouthful of popcorn.).

He had pizza nights with Boyd and Erica, squeezed the happiness out of himself when they announced that they were expecting. All he could picture was Stiles, the way he smiled in the car on the way to Florence, the way he laughed with his entire body, the way he talked about holidays with his parents when he was little and how he loved being an only child and being the center of his parent’s worlds.

He went out on a date, someone he met at a coffee shop who asked him out, and although his heart was pounding and a flash of amber eyes and pale skin whipped through his vision momentarily, he accepted. It was obvious from the first ten minutes that there wasn’t anything between them, and it didn’t last more than two dates. Erica gave him a thumbs-up for putting himself out there again, and even though it hurt, Derek slowly felt himself unwinding from the tight spring he had been coiled up in since Italy.

Because of the new online presence, Derek started getting more and more out-of-town requests, and Derek was pleased to be able to dive even more into work. He found that Stiles’ face stayed out of his dreams the busier he kept himself.

One such trip took him to San Francisco. He didn’t have to travel often, because with Mason’s help he was able to video-conference his clients and do most of his design work online, but his newest client was different—the work was in conjunction with a hospital board, and the project leader wanted to see the design specs in person. The hospital was dedicating a new mental health and education wing and Derek was enjoying the challenge of making the combined space. The project leader was impressively confident—Derek had talked with her only once on the phone, and he was loath to admit, but he was actually kind of intimidated by her. She didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, including the board who was supposed to be in charge. He spent most of the time talking with various members of the board, but the project was hers, and her stamp was all over it. He actually loved her tenacity—it made him bring his A-game.

Of course the project had him thinking of Stiles and his arts-education ranting through the Italian countryside, but it was more out of fondness than from a place of pain. _Stiles would have so many opinions on this project._

San Francisco was only a few hours drive from Beacon Hills, so thankfully, he didn’t have to endure an airplane ride again. He arrived at the hospital to meet his client in person for the first time, and was taken aback by the petite redhead in sky-high heels striding toward him. He had expected Lorraine Martin to be as physically impressive as her vocal demeanor, but she was petite and fashionable, and Derek got the impression that she liked the challenge of people judging her by her looks.

“Ms. Martin, it is good to finally meet you.” Their handshake is firm and cordial.

“And you, Mr. Hale. I am pleased to finally be talking with you in person. I find video-conferencing to be a little too impersonal for my taste. Your recently published online portfolio was most impressive.”

 _Score one for Erica,_ Derek thought. “My brand manager just helped me to bring my designs into the social space. I must admit to not having much interest in it before, but I am pleased at how it has expanded my reach.”

“Yes, you were recommended very highly, and I was surprised at first to find so little about you online.  I am glad that the board has seen fit to bring your vision alongside mine.” Lydia gestured to the conference room behind her, and he fell into step with her towards the room.

“I am looking forward to bringing our ideas together, Ms. Martin.”

“Please, call me Lydia.”

Derek blinked, confused. “Lydia? But...I thought your name was Lorraine?”

Lydia smiled sweetly at him. “Lorraine is my grandmother, to whom we are dedicating the building.”

Derek nodded, and then ground to a halt. He swallowed thickly as realization flooded him. _Lydia Martin_. Stiles’ best friend. The description came back to him all at once. “Red-headed, intimidating as fuck, can see through you with just one lift her eyebrows,” he had said. As Derek looked at Lydia, catching on her discerning eye, he had to admit, Stiles wasn’t wrong.

Lydia was looking at him as though she knew exactly why he had frozen halfway through the door. Derek figured it was obvious—his eyes were as big as saucers right now. She squared her shoulders at him, raising herself to her tallest height—still barely reaching his chin.

“So you _do_ know who I am. I wondered. You know my connections, but they have nothing to do with this. I believe you are the person for this job. You came highly recommended, and I have loved everything you have sent us for this project up to this point. But if you feel uncomfortable about our partnership, you say the word now, and I’ll make other arrangements.”

Derek took a few breaths in and out. It felt immature, but for a split-second, he actually considered running. Tearing off down the hallway, out of the building, throwing his blueprints behind him as he left. He was working in Stiles’ city, with Stiles’ _best friend_. And the thought of somehow accidentally running into him, or of being a pawn in some kind of game again, terrified him.

But then he thought about the wing, the plans he had been working on so meticulously, and he mentally shook himself out of it. He _really_ wanted this job—he was loving how it was stretching him professionally, and if she was willing to work with him, then he could put aside things, too.

“I am committed to seeing this project through, Ms. Martin. If you are.”

Lydia’s returning smile made Derek feel he had passed some sort of test. “Excellent, Mr. Hale. If you’ll just join me in the conference room, we can make your vision a reality.”

Derek nodded and followed her into the room where the board was waiting.

Two hours later, design plans approved, Derek felt exhilarated as he left the room behind Lydia. She turned once again, to shake his hand.

“I hope you are as pleased as I am, Mr. Hale.”

Derek returned her handshake with a smile. “Please call me Derek.”

“Derek,” she smiled and released his hand. “The designs you have come up with capture my grandmother’s spirit perfectly. I am extremely pleased we can work together on this, even with the...other considerations.”

Derek nodded. “Of course.”

“I must say, I am pleased you traveled to meet us here. I was informed, very insistently I might add, that you were the best architect on the West Coast.”

“I didn’t realize I had architectural contacts here in the city.”

“You have one. A very outspoken, mildly irritating one.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised. There’s only one person she could have heard about him from that fit that description.  “Are you telling me that _Stiles_ is the one that recommended my work?”

“So that description of him rang some bells? Interesting.” Lydia’s gaze settled into a smug acceptance. “Yes, Stiles recommended ‘this amazing designer he had met in Italy.’ However, after a bit of digging on my part, I didn’t trust him on the issue. He had too much emotional vulnerability tied into it. But I interviewed many architects before you, and not a single one of them satisfied me. I did some research into you, and after our initial meeting, I knew you were the right one.  I stand by our decision to hire you.”

Derek waited. His mind was racing. He wanted to know more. Why would Stiles recommend him? Was this a plot to win him back? Another convoluted scheme to get under Derek’s skin and turn him inside out again?

Mostly, he didn’t want to know. It was better to keep himself out of this, right? He looked up to see Lydia looking at him with those piercing eyes again. Stiles was right—she could see right through someone. It was unnerving.

Lydia’s gaze turned softer. “I know Stiles inside and out. We’ve been friends since Kindergarten. I don’t know what happened on the trip, he wouldn’t talk too much about it, but I know it has something to do with you. I also know he did something stupid, because that’s his default behavior when he falls for someone—apparently you are no exception.”

“So, this happens a lot, huh?” He couldn’t contain the hurt that bled out of his voice.

Lydia gently shook her head. “Actually, Stiles doesn’t fall that easily. You’d think he would, with the huge heart and the over-complicated romantic gestures. But no. I’ve only seen him like this once before, when he got it into his head that he loved _me_. Somehow sold double the permissible amount of plasma to buy me a birthday gift once, and spent the weekend in the hospital with nausea and dehydration.”

Derek couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips. Lydia nodded in agreement. “See? Stupid. Thankfully he figured out, after a very awkward attempted makeout session, that we were much better off as friends, and also that his affections ran less for the ones with long hair and makeup and more towards the...scruffy and muscular ones.”

She raised on of her perfectly sculptured eyebrows at those words, and he felt his ears flush red. She continued, “So no, he doesn’t do this often. He doesn’t do it at all, actually. He’s been waiting for fate to strike. Kind of obsessed with love at first sight, finding _The One_ , all of that nonsense. When everything worked out for him to be in Italy, he swore up and down that this was a sign that he was going to meet the person of his dreams.”

The air in the room suddenly felt thicker than Derek could handle. He shifted his gaze to the floor, hoping against hope that Lydia wouldn’t notice his sudden nerves. But of course she did. She tilted her head slightly, her long hair tumbling softly over her shoulder.

“You know, Stiles’ museum is not far from here.” Derek lifted his head and Lydia nodded. “He takes lunch in less than an hour and gets coffee at the cafe’ in the museum.”

“Why would I want to see him?” Derek tried for irritation in his tone, but his heart was jackhammering too loud in his chest, his breath was too shallow, and the words choked him.

“Hmm..” Lydia eyed him carefully, as if she wanted to say more, then decided against it, flipping her hair back behind her, and sticking out her hand once more.

Derek, after a deep breath, took her hand in his. She smiled widely. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Derek Hale. I look forward to our future interactions.”

He searched her eyes to see if there were any extra meanings behind her words, but she was as enigmatic as ever. He nodded. “I will have the final proposal to you within the week.”

They released hands, and she turned on her heel and walked back toward the board room, leaving him staring after her, dazed.

Sharp, smart, and intimidating as fuck. _Stiles was right about that._

The walk back to his car was quick, his thoughts still reeling from the success of the meeting, and also the encounter with Lydia.  He fumbled with the keys before he climbed in and rested his forehead on the steering wheel, exhaling audibly. His hands gripped the wheel, and he felt the tension flowing through the muscles in his forearms as he gripped and released his hold, working the energy out through his hands.

He should go back to the hotel. Change into his sweatpants, relax for the afternoon, get a quiet dinner, check in with Mason. Maybe catch some mindless TV. Or he could drive around San Francisco for a few hours, see the sights—he hadn’t been to the city since he was a kid.

Or.

He could drive to the Legion of Honor Museum and get some coffee.

_Oh, fuck it._

The napkin he got with his tea was in shreds by the time he caught a glimpse of brown hair and pale skin walking through the double doors. Derek had been sitting for about 30 minutes, almost getting up and leaving several times, but he had kept himself glued to the seat, and when he finally saw Stiles walk in, Derek’s heart was somewhere in between his ears.

Stiles’ face had been in Derek’s dreams for months, but somehow he had forgotten just how beautiful he was. He stared at the slender frame from across the cafe, his breath shallow and his temperature rising in his cheeks.

The barista passed Stiles a steaming cup, and he gave her an audible, “thanks, love” and a wink. He turned from the counter and headed to the little cart that held creamers and sugar. He was facing Derek, who took the opportunity to look Stiles over before attempting to speak.

He looked good. His plaid button-down was cut trimly around his waist and rolled up at the sleeves, which only served to highlight his narrow waist and his long fingers. The skinny tie he wore threatened to dip into his coffee several times, but always seemed to just miss. His hands swiftly moved around the containers on the cart, adding a couple of creamers and more sugar packets than was probably healthy to his drink. Derek’s eyes drifted upwards, and he frowned slightly at the worn look that appeared in Stiles’ eyes, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep for...a while. It was a feeling Derek was all-too familiar with.

Stiles had just snapped the lid back on his cup and lifted his head to look around the cafe when he locked eyes with Derek and froze, cup in hand. His mouth dropped to a small “o”, and his eyebrows raised.

Derek fumbled to his feet, keeping his gaze on Stiles, not sure how best to proceed, but not wanting him to disappear, either.

A flash of fear passed over Stiles’ features for a split second, before it was wiped away with a pinch of the eyebrows and a purse of his lips. It was definitely a look of annoyance. He strode purposefully to Derek, dodging tables and chairs. Derek was so surprised at Stiles’ haste that he found himself scrambling to remember the words he had been practicing the entire drive to the museum. Before he could remember them, Stiles was speaking.

“Lydia brought you here, didn’t she?”

Derek opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles barrelled on. “Of course she did. I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her perfectly painted lips shut. I told her not to bring you, but does she listen? _No._ Thinks that because she’s a genius that she knows everything about everyone else’s business. Especially in my case.”

Stiles was tense and agitated, wringing his free hand around the strap of the messenger bag he was carrying. “Look. I’m sorry she dragged you up here. It’s the last thing I wanted her to do.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Lydia didn’t bring me.”

Stiles’ eyes opened wide in surprise.

“I came up here on my own.”

“You—you came by yourself?” Stiles blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing, all his bluster stolen away.

Derek gestured to the seat that Stiles had been pacing behind, and sat down across the table from it. After a moment’s thought, Stiles sank into the offered seat, sighing heavily.

The two of them sat in an awkward silence for several moments, Derek taking sips of his now-cold tea, Stiles fiddling with his bag or his coffee cup between taking tiny sips.

Finally, Derek cleared his throat to speak. “I have to start by asking if this whole thing with recommending me to Lydia was some carefully crafted way of seeing me again.”

Stiles sat upright. “Oh God, no. Derek, I swear, it wasn’t. After what I did in Italy?” His gaze was entreating at first, but then it dropped to his hands that were clenching and unclenching atop the table. His voice shook as he continued, “I would never do something like that to you again. I shouldn’t have done it the first time.” He looked back up at Derek, his eyes round, and Derek was struck again by the beauty he found there. “Look. I saw your heart in the pictures that were showing up on Instagram, and how you were infusing your personality into your work. I had no idea i would ever even see you. I just thought you and Lydia would work well together.”

Derek sighed. “How did you find me on Instagram at all?”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed in ruddy red patches. “Uh, I may have turned on a Google Alert for your business name?”

“I don’t even know what that is, but I feel like I should be pissed off.”

“It’s a setup with Google where anytime a phrase is mentioned it sends you an email alert.” Derek felt his eyebrows skyrocket, and Stiles quickly added, “It was only for your business name, dude. I swear, and I’ve already turned it off. After...everything...I just wanted to make sure... I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t…” His hands unclenched, and one of them flew to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin above his collar, a nervous gesture that Derek had come to associate with Stiles.

Stiles exhaled deeply over the hands that he had laced around his coffee cup. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. At first, all that turned up was that really pathetic website you used to have, but then I started getting alerts about page updates and an Instagram and it just made me so happy for you, Der. Your work is really incredible. You deserve every single good thing that comes your way.”

Derek searched Stiles’ eyes for the manipulation that was disguised within the words, but he couldn’t find anything but earnestness.

Derek shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you recommended me.”

“Of course I did. Look, I told Lydia not to mention me at all. I didn’t want you to feel weird, or like you couldn’t take the job just because of me. You’re so talented, and I didn’t want to mess up an opportunity for you. Lydia is extremely influential, and a good recommendation from her will get you so much work.”

Derek shrugged. “Well, I didn’t even know that the design I was doing for Lorraine Martin was connected to Lydia until today.”

“Yeah, her capacity for deception is beyond what I’d like to consider. If she ever got truly mad at me, I shudder to think of what she could do to me with just the power of her mind. She’s a certified genius—I want to keep her on my side, that’s for sure.  But Derek, my god, the designs that Lydia has been showing me? Wow. They are just incredible. I knew you’d be the perfect one for the job.”

Stiles’ hand was again rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting from his fingers to his cup, as if searching for the words to say within the swirls of his coffee. “So, if Lydia didn’t mention me, how did you know it was me?”

Derek flushed. “I made the connection between you when she told me her name. She ended up telling me where to find you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn that girl.” The words held no anger as Stiles smiled a lopsided smile that Derek couldn’t help but match. Even though he was annoyed at Lydia, there was no doubt that Stiles loved her deeply.

The silence between them stretched on again, and Derek wanted to say more, but he found all the words that he wanted to say were getting stuck in his throat. Stiles, too, looked to be on the verge of saying something, his fingers peeling back the paper rim and tearing it into pieces.

“Look,” Stiles continued. “Can I… Can I show you my exhibition that we just finished setting up? I’ve been working with this artist...it’s the first show I’m coordinating completely on my own, and I’d really like for you to see it. I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand, I just—”

“—Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles looked up into Derek’s eyes. The sun was lowering in the sky, and the orange glow was filtering through the big picture windows to the west and catching on Stiles’ long eyelashes. It set his irises nearly iridescent, and Derek found himself getting lost. He stared for a moment or two before shaking himself out of it with a startled clearing of his throat.

“I’d love to see it.”

The blinding smile on Stiles’ face set Derek’s heart into overdrive. He felt a buzzing in his pocket—the new smartphone that Mason had outfitted him with seemed to thrive as an annoying bee—but he ignored it and followed Stiles as he walked through the museum.

“The opening gala for the installation is in two days, so no one has been able to see it yet. Other than the staff here, you’ll be the first, so I’d love to get your opinion.”

A security guard stood in front of a large set of temporary panels. Stiles flashed a badge at the guard and they stepped through a small door in the panels and exited into an large paved courtyard. Derek recognized the statue of Rodin’s _The Thinker_ at the a central point of the yard, the large archway with a spectacular view of the San Francisco Bay beyond and surrounding them were tall columns. The columns were now mostly obscured by enormous pieces of artwork. It wasn’t until Stiles led Derek to the center of the courtyard that he could fully take in the incredible pieces.

Stiles’ voice echoed over Derek’s shoulder. “The artist’s name is Julian Schnabel. He takes these pieces of tarpaulin from southern Mexico that cover fruit markets, and he uses them as the canvases for his art. He says that they have a story of their own even before he adds his.”

Stiles continued telling Derek about the artist as they walked around the open space. He loved listening to Stiles talk about the work. It provided a passionate backdrop for the pieces that he was seeing. Stiles had proved to be very passionate about art, proving it when it had come up in Italy. Derek had admired it then, distantly. But now hearing it in person, seeing his work actually on display and knowing that Stiles was responsible for it made everything even more real. Stiles was talented, and had an appreciation for beauty that Derek could identify with on a deep level.

“These are...wow. And supported and framed by the ionic colonnade? It’s a stunning display.” Derek’s awe came through his hushed tone.

Stiles was following closely behind Derek, a note of pride in his tone. “Twenty-four feet by twenty-four feet. He creates them on riggings in his home in Long Island, then has them shipped here. I’ve been following his work for a while, and the curator here took some convincing, but she eventually said okay. He created these specifically for this space.” It was silent for a few moments as they walked together to the center of the courtyard, Derek’s eyes trailing from one massive piece to the next. Stiles’ voice was quiet behind him. “What do you think?”

Derek was overwhelmed. He tried to think of what to say, but nothing seemed to fit. It wasn’t just the size of the paintings, but also the feelings they evoked in him. The paintings themselves were so simple, but also so specifically planned. As Derek made his way in a circle around the courtyard, at one point the sculpture of The Thinker was framed perfectly by one of Schnabel’s paintings behind it. The modernity juxtaposed with the classical gave Derek a feeling he couldn’t quite describe except that it _made sense_. The old bracketed by the new. As he approached one piece in particular, an amalgam of dark gray and blue, a slight breeze circled through the rounded courtyard, and the painting swayed with the breeze, creating a new physical experience to the art. Derek stood mesmerized in front of the piece, the jagged white intersecting lines atop the thick swaths of gray and black.

“This one,” Derek said roughly. “This one’s my favorite.”

Stiles’ voice was surprised. “Really? Why?”

Derek angled his head this way and that, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m...not sure how to describe it exactly. But it feels...like how _home_ should feel.”

He looked over to see Stiles staring back at him, wide-eyed. It took a moment or two before Stiles cleared his throat and turned back to the canvas. “Mmm...yeah. I can see that.”

“Won’t the weather destroy the collection?”

“It’s...Umm…” Stiles voice was rough, but he cleared his throat, scuffed his soles on the paved ground and began again. “They shouldn’t be damaged too much, the exhibition is only here for four months. Plus, Schnabel likes it that way, the weather adding its own story on top of his.”

Derek’s phone in his pocket buzzed again, and he fumbled in his pocket to quiet it before turning to Stiles and adding, “This collection is incredible, Stiles. You should be really proud.”

There was a slight uptick at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, the only sign that he had heard Derek’s words. He continued to stare at the large canvas, his head leaned back, exposing the long line of his throat.

“Derek, I just have to say that I’m so sorry. About Italy. About everything.”

Derek ripped his eyes away from Stiles and locked them onto the painting in front of him, suddenly seeing nothing but the blue fabric and the gentle ripple from the wind.

“I just… I wish I could have done everything in Italy differently. And I’m so sorry I lied. Twice. I really fucked things up, and it kills me that I hurt you in the process.”

Derek managed to pull his eyes from the canvas back to Stiles. His shoulders were rounded, like he was carrying the weight of his guilt on his back. His hands were shoved into his pockets, the stillness of them as shocking as any words, and Derek pictured Stiles binding his hands into silence. His eyes were shiny, tears just threatening to fall, and his voice seemed to pierce right into Derek’s heart.

“Please believe me, Derek. I never meant to hurt you. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Derek felt his heart pushing him towards Stiles, and his mind fought against it. His weight shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, torn with indecision.

Stiles seemed to feel Derek’s conflict. “I know you have _no_ reason to trust me. But I swear to you, I _swear to God_ , I will never do anything like that to you again. Would you… Would you give me another chance? Please? I swear it will be better this time. It will be perfect, I know it. I _feel_ it.”

“Stiles, I..” The words Derek was trying to say were choked off. Stiles’ face was filled with earnestness, the sincerity of his words bridging the space between them, and still Derek couldn’t respond. He was stymied by his own fear. It held him back, filling his head with questions and what ifs. He was frustrated by it, his inability to _do_ , to take that leap and trust once again.

Again, the persistent buzzing in his pocket interrupted his thoughts, and this time, the frustration was close enough to the surface that he yanked the phone out of his pocket, saw that it was Erica, and growled a rough “What?” into the earpiece.

“Derek, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for an hour!”

Derek looked over his shoulder at Stiles, who had turned away and Derek could see him wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

Derek turned his back and dropped his voice to a low whisper. “I’m busy, Erica. What is it?”

“Look, I’m sorry to interrupt what is undoubtedly a relaxing evening in the hotel with a bottle of wine and some sappy movie on the Hallmark Channel, but this is important.”

Derek huffed in response.

“I found him.”

“Who?”

“ _Jackson Whittemore_ . I found him. I’m sending you a link via text. You _do_ have Instagram installed on your phone, right? You’ve gotta see him, Der. He’s gorgeous. And he owns a winery and get this, he’s getting honored at Devenford Prep for Alumni of the Year, or some shit like that, so _he’ll be in town, Der._ You can meet him. Finally. I knew you would never move on with your life if you didn't figure out anything about the guy, so I looked him up, and I seriously don't know why we didn't try to do this before because he's totally famous. So get your ass out of those damn sweatpants I know you’re wearing and get your butt in the car and get back here. The ceremony is tomorrow afternoon and you don’t want to miss it. Isn’t this exciting? ...Der?”

From a distance, he heard Erica calling his name. He knew she was expecting some kind of response. But the only thing Derek could manage was a wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare at Stiles, who was now frowning at Derek’s reaction.

“Derek? What is it?” Stiles asked.

Erica’s voice chirped out of the earpiece. “Who is that? Derek? Did you pick up a guy while you were in San Fran? _Oh my god._ I can’t even process that right now. Get rid of him and get here, okay?”

The click of the call ending rang in Derek’s ear and he pulled the phone down, staring at it dumbfoundedly.

“Derek? What’s wrong?”

Derek’s voice was barely a whisper. “She found him.”

“What?”

Derek looked up from the phone into Stiles’ eyes, which now held a mixture of fear and confusion.

“That was Erica. She found Jackson Whittemore.”

Stiles’ look of shock matched his own. The phone buzzed in Derek’s hands again, and he clicked on the link and an Instagram feed popped up in a new window.

He didn’t want to look—especially now that Stiles was staring at his phone over his shoulder—but of course he couldn’t not look. His thumb scrolled down through a feed full of impossibly beautiful shots of Italian vineyards, close-ups of bottle labels stamped with an understated WW logo, and glasses of reds and whites. There were pictures of workers in a vineyard, which made Derek look closer, but then there was one picture in the feed that made Derek’s breath hitch. He clicked on that photo to enlarge it—and he finally saw Jackson Whittemore’s face up close.

He was wearing an impeccably tailored suit, surrounded by stacks and rows of wine barrels. He was holding a glass of wine, and his chiseled features were just breathtaking. Derek pulled the worn picture of Jackson Whittemore out of his wallet—he’d stashed it there that night in Italy, and hadn’t bothered to take it out—and held it up to the screen. It was easy to see that it was the same man. _This_ Jackson Whittemore—the _real_ one—had the same physique as the one in the photo. Derek stared and stared, the silence of the growing darkness around him only broken by the sound of the crickets chirping and echoing around the vacant courtyard.

“So, I guess that’s it.”

Stiles’ awkward voice broke the silence, and Derek closed his eyes. He had forgotten for a moment that Stiles was even there.

“That’s your destiny on that phone.” Stiles dropped his hands from his mouth, where he must have been gnawing on his thumbnail, and gestured vaguely to the screen. “He looks pretty fantastic, Der. Congratulations.”

Derek flinched against the vacancy he heard in Stiles’ voice, the resignation. Earlier, describing the exhibition, Stiles had been buoyant, full of life and awe and joy. It was a wonder to hear. And now? It was gone, crushed under the slide of a thumb on a phone screen.

“Stiles...Jackson’s name has been in my heart since I was a kid. And it’s connected to my sister, to everything that I have lost. If I give up on that, I don’t even know who I will be anymore.”

Derek heard the words coming out of his mouth, but as he watched the hope fade from Stiles’ eyes, he felt like they were coming from someone else.

“No, I...I understand. You gotta go with your destiny, right?”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. He couldn’t prolong this anymore. He had to get home to Beacon Hills. He had to turn away from Stiles and move towards the person he had been dreaming about for years.

This was a good thing.

So why couldn’t he move?

Maybe it was because he was being held by the power in Stiles’ eyes. Derek couldn’t seem to look away, and slowly Stiles moved into Derek’s space, hesitantly, and with a questioning look. When Derek didn’t back away, Stiles gently moved his hands to grasp onto Derek’s lapels. It was so much like the moment they had shared in Italy, right before going on that disastrous date. Then, too, it had been Stiles pleading with Derek, asking him to stay. And now here they were again. The parallel was just on the side of too much for Derek.

Stiles looked up at Derek through his long eyelashes, his earnest eyes alive for one more moment. “Just consider, though. Do you really want to give up the possibility of what we could be… to go with the unknown of a person you have never met?”

The moment hung between them, Stiles’ thumbs rubbing circles into the jacket, standing so close that all it would take was a slight press forward...

Derek lifted his hand to rest against Stiles’ chest, and he felt the breath catch underneath it. At that moment Derek realized that he was still clutching the yearbook photo. The helmeted face of Jackson Whittemore seemed to bore into him. He stared at the photo for a moment before lifting his eyes to Stiles’ and gently extending his arm, taking a step back. Stiles’ eyes fluttered closed in defeat.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Stiles nodded, pulling his hands away. He was blinking too quickly, visibly gathering himself. “Of course. You—”

His voice broke on the words, and Derek couldn’t bear to hear his pain anymore.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

Derek turned away before Stiles could see the tears that were threatening to fall and hurriedly left the courtyard, not looking back. He couldn’t look back anymore. This was right—going after his destiny, chasing his dream.

Right?

He didn’t dwell on how much it hurt to walk away, how it felt like although he was walking toward possibility, he was leaving an even bigger one behind.

He couldn’t think about the past. He had to look ahead.

To the future.

To love.

To Jackson.

 

**************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian Schnabel's "Symbols of Actual Life" is legitimately an exhibition currently featured at the Legion of Honor Museum in San Francisco right now, and I shamelessly substituted Stiles for the museum director Max Hollein, so sorry, don't be mad, bro.
> 
> I LIVE for comments, so hit me up, lovies.


	7. The Real Jackson Whittemore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes chapter count with astonishment*
> 
> I KNOW! But I'm wordy, and apologies had to be made, and I hope this monster of a chapter is worth it.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story. It has not been easy rewriting the ending of a movie, but I hope you find it satisfying--much more satisfying than the ACTUAL movie Only You, which I adore but also in which the main character NEVER APOLOGIZES FOR ANYTHING.
> 
> Okay...on with the show!

 

 

******************

  
  


“Wait a minute. You’re telling me that you were with  _ Stiles?! _ ”

Erica nearly spilled her decaf mocha on Derek’s bed. His eyes were covered by his forearm, but he heard the whispered  _ shit! _ that she tried to cover up as she fumbled on the bed.

“Erica, I swear, if you stain this duvet, I really will kill you, I don’t care how cute you look when you’re pregnant.”

She swatted him playfully on his chest. “I didn’t spill a drop, you clean freak.  _ You _ try maneuvering with grace when you have a bowling ball-sized thing inside your stomach.”

He had arrived home late the night before, after checking out of the hotel early and making a drive that felt five times as long as it should have because of the chaos that was rattling around in his brain the entire time. He had crashed on his bed, still fully clothed, and had tossed and turned all night. She had come over in the early morning, bearing coffee and croissants and a buoyant attitude that he tried not to growl at audibly. 

He felt a hand on his forearm, a soft voice accompanying it. “Der, why didn’t you tell me it was him when I was on the phone?”

He pulled his hand away and shrugged. “You were so excited about finding Jackson, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Erica punched his upper arm, with no real force behind it. “Derek Alexander Hale,  _ you should have told me. _ ”

He shifted in the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Okay, first, that’s  _ not _ my middle name—”

Erica punched the bed in frustration. “ _ Dammit!  _ I  _ am _ going to guess it right one of these days.”

Derek crossed his arms. “You’ve been guessing since first grade, give it up. Second, I didn’t tell you because… I needed to get away from him.”

“Get away from Stiles? What was he doing—was he lying to you again? I swear I’ll fucking kill that bastard.” Erica started to get up from the bed, albeit slower than normal. Derek stilled her with a hand on her knee.

“No, he wasn’t lying. He was the most honest I have ever seen him. He...he asked if I would give him a second chance.”

Erica’s jaw dropped for just a moment. “Oh my god, what did you say?”

Derek wasn’t sure how to respond, and he felt his ears flush with embarrassment. Erica must have noticed, because when she spoke again, her voice laced with caring. “You just ran away. You didn’t say anything.”

“No! I didn’t run—” Derek immediately answered, his embarrassment making him harsher than he should have been. What she was saying was crazy. He was a grown man, of course he didn’t  _ run _ . 

But, as he looked into Erica’s eyes, so full of care and understanding, he started to be more honest with himself.  _ Did _ he run away? He thought back to the night before, the way Stiles had slowly crowded into his space, the way he had looked into his eyes with such longing, such  _ hope _ . Derek felt his heartbeat start to race with the memory of it.  _ Oh god _ , he had totally run away.

“Okay, yeah, maybe. But, I mean, it’s  _ Jackson _ , right? The man I’ve been dreaming about forever. That’s a pretty damn good reason to run away, right? You said it yourself—I wouldn’t ever be content with anyone if I knew that Jackson was still out there. And he  _ was _ ! He called my house! I talked to him! I broke off my fucking engagement for the guy. Shouldn’t I at least meet him before giving up on everything? And then you find him, Erica. You send me his pictures and he’s so fucking gorgeous and rich and successful, and Stiles...”

Derek trailed off, and realized he was slightly out of breath. He had gotten off of the bed and had been pacing, slowly working himself up until he was practically shouting. He took a deep breath, and exhaled, “Stiles was…”

He collapsed back down on the bed, tucking one foot underneath him until he was knee-to-knee with Erica, leaning toward her. He lowered his voice and ducked his head. “Stiles was so beautiful and perfect and broken and I wanted to say yes. So much.”

Erica’s voice matched his. “Then why didn’t you, Der?”

Derek’s gaze stayed glued to his hands, and he took a shaky breath. “You  _ know _ why, Erica. It’s Laura. This thing with Jackson… this is something that we shared together. It’s the thing that has kept her alive for me.”

“ _ Derek _ .” Erica’s tone brought his attention to her face. She was staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and love. It’s a look he knew from her well. “You keep Laura alive in your heart with a million other memories. She would  _ not _ want you to throw away a chance at happiness because of a  _ board game _ .”

He can’t help the groan of frustration “God, when you put it like that I sound like a complete idiot.”

“Well…” Erica raised her shoulders, and then smirked at him before she turned serious again. “Look, I have known you my entire life. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re torn between your loyalty to your sister, which is completely understandable, and your feelings for this man who is pretty damn near perfect for you.”

“How could you possibly know that he’s perfect for me?”

“I think you forget I spent almost more time with him than you did in Italy. While you were getting three hours of snoring beauty sleep, he and I explored that ridiculous hotel together. I even thought about telling you to stick with Stiles before you went on that disastrous date.”

“Ugh. Why didn’t you?” It would have saved him some serious heartbreak—maybe even the entire Adrian debacle would never have happened.

“Because you were completely determined to go on that date. When you came down from the room, you had so much purpose in your eyes, it would’ve been like talking to a brick wall. And because I knew that you’d say the same thing that you’re telling me now. No matter how much you have buried it over the years, you’re still obsessed with fate and destiny.—the same things you’ve been obsessed with since before Laura died. And you’ll never be able to give anyone else a  _ real _ chance until you know the truth about Jackson.”

She was right. He’d never tell her that, because she didn’t need the ego boost. Instead, he dragged his hands down his face and gave a resigned sigh. “So what do I do?”

“So,” Erica leaned over Derek with a smirk and a wicked eyebrow raised. “We get your gorgeous ass out of bed, make you look devastatingly handsome, and we go meet Jackson fucking Whittemore.”

“Hopefully the real one this time.” Derek’s heart leapt at the possibility of finally,  _ finally _ getting some answers. He thought of sitting in the bleachers alone with no support, and he hesitantly asked Erica, “You’ll come with me?”

Erica rolled her eyes at him with a smile. “Honey, if you think I’m going to miss the chance to meet this guy in person, you’re out of your goddamned mind.”

The Alumni of the Year ceremony was scheduled to take place before the lacrosse game between Devenford Prep and Beacon Hills High. Jackson’s jersey number was going to be retired and then he would officiate the coin toss between the two rivals (Erica had seen the article about the ceremony in the Beacon Hills Gazette). Erica and Derek went to the stadium, and sat awkwardly in the bleachers between fans from both teams adorned with letter jackets and green and maroon sweatshirts. Derek felt overdressed around them with his suit jacket and uncomfortably tight jeans that Erica said “gave him an ass that wouldn’t quit.” When he climbed up the steps, he saw lingering gazes from some of the moms and he tried not to be squicked out. Erica was uncomfortably pregnant at this point, so climbing up into bleacher seats was clumsy at best. Derek’s oppressive nervousness made him feel like he had a giant spotlight following him around the stadium.

A makeshift stage had been erected at the center line wing area, with a podium and several banners flanking the stage, each displaying lacrosse photos of Jackson similar to the one Derek currently carried in his wallet. They were a little ostentatious for a simple high school induction ceremony, but he guessed it was normal, being a private prep school, to go over-the-top for everything.

“Wow, these prep school people are something else.” Erica huffed aloud, earning a few looks in the process.

“Don’t get us kicked out, please,” Derek pleaded, pulling her down into a seat close to the front. Derek sat close so that he could see Jackson properly.

A voice boomed over the PA system. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Talbot Memorial Stadium, for today’s match between the Devenford Prep Hornets and the Beacon Hills High School Cyclones!”

Derek leaned forward during the applause and braced his hands on his knees. “Oh god, I think I’m going to throw up.”

Erica rested her hand atop his. “No, you’re not. Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve only waited your whole life for this.”

Derek huffed out a breath and hung his head. “You’re not helping.”

She squeezed his hand as the announcer continued his introduction. “Oh my god, is that him?” Erica asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Derek’s head popped up and his spine straightened as three men in suits exited from under the bleachers and walked purposefully toward the podium. He strained his neck to see, the man in the center looking possibly like he could be Jackson. Derek broke out in a cold sweat and grasped Erica’s hand.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the Headmaster of Devenford Prep, Dr. Harrison Stanfield!”

An appreciative round of applause rose from the crowd, loudest from the Devenford crowd, as an impressive gray-haired man took the podium. He began to speak, but Derek didn’t have any idea what he was saying, because the trio of men had reached the podium and turned around, and in front of him,  _ finally _ , in person and only about 20 yards away, was Jackson Whittemore.

The  _ real _ Jackson Whittemore.

Derek’s first impression was that he was everything that he was advertised to be. Confident, stylish, overwhelmingly beautiful. His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw chiseled. His eyebrows were full and his jawline was square and strong. There was no doubt at all that this was the man whose picture Derek had been carrying around in his wallet for months. Jackson and the other man sat in chairs on the stage, and as the headmaster listed Jackson’s accomplishments, both in high school and beyond, Jackson peered out over the audience with a confident swagger. Derek watched his eyes scan the crowd, pointing at a few people and smiling as he obviously recognized people at the ceremony.

Derek started hoping that Jackson would scan the crowd in his direction and make eye contact. Would there be an instant connection there? Would Jackson know right away that they were meant to be together?

Jackson’s eyes continued to scan the crowd, getting closer and closer to where Derek sat, and he must have been squeezing Erica’s hand harder than he realized because she poked him with her finger.

She murmured, “You’re going to break my hand, and then you’ll be taking me to meet a doctor at the hospital instead of meeting this guy.”

Derek whispered back, “He’s almost looking this way, what do I do?” 

“Well, you march down there and plant a kiss on him, obviously.”

Derek whipped his head around to her. “ _ What? _ ”

She rolled her eyes in response. “Oh my god,  _ I’m kidding _ . You wait until the end of the ceremony and then go talk to him. Honey, calm down.”

“ _ You _ calm down!” he hissed.

Erica snorted in laughter and her hand flew to her mouth to cover it. Derek couldn’t help but smile along with her. He  _ was _ acting fairly ridiculous. But could anyone blame him? This was a pretty big moment and he was pretty much failing at keeping his nerves intact.

The headmaster must have announced Jackson while they were whispering, because everyone started cheering and clapping, and he rose from his seat, shaking hands with the headmaster before moving behind the podium to speak.

Jackson’s voice was rich and full, and Derek recognized it from the phone call so many months ago—this was definitely him. He spoke with a confidence and self-assuredness that Derek envied. He looked completely comfortable in front of these people, thanking them for their support of his athletic career and now his wine business. He thanked his teachers and coaches for mentoring him through school. He thanked the school for the honor of retiring his number and including him in the school’s hall of fame.

At one point during the speech, Derek thought he and Jackson had made eye contact, and Derek leaned forward when he thought he saw Jackson blink, but he didn’t falter in his words at all, and Derek chalked it up to his own imagination.

“Finally,” Jackson continued. “I need to thank the man who accompanied me here this evening. He was my best friend through school, and always supported me, even when I was struggling with my family and figuring out who I was. Athletics always came easy, but knowing my heart was a lot harder. I am so grateful he didn’t give up on me. I thank Devenford for their support during the tumultuous time when I came out my Senior Year. Your support, and most importantly his support, made that transition in my life so much smoother. So I would be remiss if I didn’t honor him today in this ceremony. All of my love and my thanks go to my best friend, and most recently, my fiancé, Ethan Steiner.”

There was an audible gasp of joy from the crowd, followed by cheers and applause, which served to mostly cover up the gasp of horror that Derek heard from Erica at the same time. Derek didn’t make a noise. Derek couldn’t do anything. He was rooted in place, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Jackson reached out for the other man on the podium, who rose from his seat to grasp Jackson’s hand. Jackson pulled him toward him, wrapping his arm around Ethan’s back and placing a kiss on his forehead.

Derek felt Erica’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look her way. Couldn’t look at anyone but Jackson, the the joy he saw on his face.

He was with someone else. Jackson was getting married to someone else. Someone that he obviously loved a great deal.

The Headmaster came back to the podium and began speaking, but Derek couldn’t hear any of it. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of there. He stood up, and was extremely grateful he was seated on the aisle so he could hurry down the stairs and under the bleachers without stumbling over anyone.

He fumbled his way in the dim lighting under the bleachers, looking for someplace to escape. His chest felt tight, and his eyes were stinging with the tears he held back.

He finally found his way to the bathroom and stumbled to the sink. His hands fumbled as he turned the cold water on high, and splashed water on his face, taking deep breaths to compose himself as the droplets ran down his face and fell back into the basin. A few moments later, he shut off the water and looked at himself in the mirror. 

He looked haunted. How had this become his life? He was successful. He was relatively good-looking. He had amazing friends and a supportive community, but his life had been turned upside-down the last several months because he chased this stupid ridiculous fantasy halfway around the globe and back again.

What in the hell was he thinking? How could he have put so much stock on a stupid game? How could he have based all of his happiness on a name, someone he knew nothing about?

Maybe it was because the mystery of Jackson Whittemore was just that...a mystery. Someone unknown and unreal, someone he didn’t have to actually face. Jackson Whittemore, for years, had been someone he could hold onto and use as a shield, keeping his heart locked away for a possibility that he assumed would never occur. But then the shield had been ripped away, and Derek felt exposed and raw, unsure of what to do now. He had pushed away actual happiness for the fantasy of a man who was never even his to begin with.

He had pushed away Stiles. Stiles, who had been stupid and earnest and almost perfect...

Derek stared and stared, searching for answers in the glass, his face becoming blurry and distorted as he leaned forward, nearly resting his head on the mirror. After his breathing finally slowed, he stood upright. His hand reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet, where he pulled out the yearbook photo, smoothing it out and holding it up in front of him. He stared at the photo for a long moment...and pushed away from the sink, ripping the photo into small pieces, dropping them into the trash can as he hurried out of the bathroom. 

The sounds from the crowd were loud above him, and he was so unfocused that he ran right into someone as he exited the bathroom.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Derek apologized, embarrassed. He raised his hands to make sure the person was okay, and felt even more foolish when he looked directly into the eyes...of Jackson Whittemore himself. “Oh, it’s you! Uh... I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Jackson looked annoyed, and straightened his jacket. “It’s fine, really.” Jackson eyed him with his eyes squinted. “Hey, do I know you? You look familiar.”

Derek was taken aback. “Umm...?”

“What’s your name? Are you from Devenford Prep?”

“N-n-no, I went to Beacon Hills. M-m-my name is Derek. Hale. Derek Hale.” he stammered.

_ Shit. I have got to get it together _ , Derek thought. His one chance to actually talk to the guy, and he was stammering like he was speaking words for the first time in his life. He gathered himself and stuck out his hand for a shake, speaking more confidently. “I played lacrosse there.”

“Oh.” Jackson automatically shook Derek’s hand in return. Derek looked down at his hand in shock. There was...nothing. Wouldn’t he have felt  _ something _ when they touched? When he touched Stiles there had been electricity. He looked back at Jackson, who looked annoyed. “God, I hate Beacon Hills. Their sheriff tried to arrest me once for speeding on some back road next to the town. No one was even around. My dad got me out of it, though.” Jackson pulled out his phone, punching in a few numbers and holding the phone up to his ear. Jackson glanced over at Derek. “Hale...hmm. Wait, do you have a sister?”

Derek was stunned. “Umm...yeah, I did, but she—”

“—Charles!” Jackson interrupted, his attention back onto his earpiece. “Yeah, have the jet ready. We’ll be there in an hour.” Jackson tapped at the screen and turned to Ethan, who was looking at Derek like he was a bug that needed to be squashed. “Let’s head to the airport. I’m dying to get out of this two-bit town. In all the years since we left and they couldn’t get any decent coffee around.”

Ethan nodded and looked Derek up and down. “I agree. There isn’t  _ anything _ good in this town.”

Derek’s ears flushed red with anger, and Jackson burst into laughter. “Ethan!” He turned to Derek. “Look, you’ll have to excuse him. It’s Dirk, you said? He gets cranky when he hasn’t had his daily flat white.”

“It’s  _ Derek _ .” He gritted his teeth, then murmured, “doesn’t excuse you from being a jackass.”

Ethan stepped forward. “What did you just say?”

“Derek! There you are!” Erica threaded her left arm into Derek’s elbow, pulling him back slightly. “Hi, I’m Erica, Derek’s best friend.” She extended her hand to Jackson, who shook it questioningly.

“Nice to meet you. Wait! I know you!” Jackson pointed at Derek. “You’re marrying Paige, aren’t you! I saw your engagement picture in the paper my dad always sends me. Like I care about what happens here anymore.”

“Oh wow,” Erica huffed under her breath.

“How funny! I tried to call her a few months ago, but I think our connection was bad. I need to have her up to the vineyard.”

“We need to get going,  _ darling _ .” Ethan said through gritted teeth.

“Of course, muffin,” Jackson replied to Ethan, giving him a sugary smile. He turned back to Derek for a moment. “Give Paige my love, okay? It was nice to meet you.”

Ethan threw a dismissive glance at Derek and Erica before pulling Jackson in for an awkward cheek kiss. They linked arms and walked away, leaving Derek and Erica standing in stunned silence. Derek stared after them, wondering what to do now. There was obviously nothing between them. But not only that, Derek didn’t  _ want _ anything between them. Jackson Whittemore was...an asshole.

A moment or two passed before Erica spoke, “Did he really just call him  _ muffin _ ?”

“I think he did.”

Erica’s cackle reverberated under the bleachers, mixing with the sounds from the game just beyond. “Well, I think you dodged a serious bullet there. I mean, the guy might be gorgeous and rich, but...”

Derek wanted to scream out of frustration. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Like he would see me and there’d be lightning bolts? I could never be with that guy. There was  _ nothing _ , Erica. Nothing but an entitled attitude and a fiancé that I’m pretty sure wanted to kill me.”

“Yeah, he really did. What was up with  _ that? _ ”

Derek sighed. “I don’t know, but I’m sick of this shit. Let’s go find out what the hell is going on.”

He started walking towards the parking lot, leaving Erica hustling up behind him. “Wait. Derek, what do you mean?”

He stopped mid-stride and turned back to Erica, who nearly ran into him. He held her upper arm gently. “We’re going to my old house, we’re going to get out that stupid Ouija board and ask it  _ what the fuck is going on!" _

Erica gripped his arm. “Oh my god, you still have it?”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

Derek felt his frustration and confusion simmering as they drove in silence to Derek’s old house. Being surrounded by the woods usually calmed Derek, but this time, the closer he got to the house, the more anxious he became. Erica kept throwing glances in his direction, but he resolutely refused to look at her. He knew she had a million things she was dying to say, but for once, she didn’t say anything.

He hadn’t spent any significant time at the old house since he was in high school. Peter had gifted it to him as a graduation gift—the last time Derek had heard from him, in fact—but he hadn’t wanted to live there. He had moved out at eighteen, and had never even considered returning. There were too many memories, too many ghosts in the walls. He only kept it now as a display for his various design abilities. He’d stop in occasionally over the last few years, overseeing specific projects, letting Mason in to take photographs, and showing clients some of his work samples. 

He ascended the steps to the second floor, Erica following silently behind, his hand trailing the bannister where he and Laura used to have races until Peter yelled at them. He entered his old room, making a direct path to the carvings in his door—even after all the remodeling and the redesigning, he kept the carvings. Almost like, no matter how he had locked that part of his life away, his subconscious couldn’t let it go. He trailed his fingers along the carvings, feeling the smoothness of the wood and the deep gouges in the grain. 

Erica leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He sighed, keeping his hand on the door, feeling the grooves with his fingers as he talked. “Anytime someone made fun of me for being an orphan, anytime I would have a rough day after Laura died, I’d come and sit inside this closet. I’d run my dad’s old knife through the paths of these letters, over and over, making them deeper and deeper. There’s a lot of pain etched into these letters. I used to talk to Jackson. I’d tell him, ‘Someday, we’ll meet each other, and it will all be alright.’”

“Oh, Der,” Erica whispered.

“No, it’s good. Having him anchored me. Kept me from burying myself under grief. After I moved out, my work became my anchor, but these letters—Jackson’s name—kept me sane for a long time.”

He left his room, Erica squeezing his shoulder as he passed, and walked by Laura’s old room without a second glance. It had been completely gutted when the house was redone, so Derek wouldn’t find anything he needed there. He pulled down the attic door and ascended the ladder, helping Erica up behind him. He switched on the light and found the old trunk exactly where it had been resting since that day, long ago. He stepped all the way up into the attic, Erica close behind.

“Wow, it’s still here?” Erica wondered.

“Yeah. It was my parents’ trunk. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. I haven’t been up here in...a long time.”

Derek gently lifted the trunk’s lid, a layer of dust clinging to the hinges. Derek’s fingers left trails on the top, and he wiped his hands on his dark jeans as he peered inside.

The Ouija board sat on top, probably sitting in the same position that it had been thrown into that stormy day when Peter had yelled at them to get out of the attic. They had gathered up the board and the indicator and haphazardly thrown the box into the trunk, slamming it shut. They hadn’t dared to reenter the attic much after that, though Peter had wondered where Derek had gotten the leather jacket that he started to wear nonstop.

Derek gently blew on top of the game board, a cloud of dust rising in the air, causing Erica to cough. He looked at her apologetically. He held the game gingerly in his hands. This was the thing that had started it all. It looked so innocuous; but it had spoken to them that day. It had given him the name that had run him around for years. He needed to know  _ why _ . He lifted the lid gently, his heart a conflicting swell of emotions.

“What’d you do this to me for, huh?” he whispered under his breath to the board.

As he lifted the board from the box, his eye caught on an envelope tucked underneath it. Frowning, Derek pulled it out and turned it over, and his breath hitched as he saw his name written in loopy handwriting. 

“This is Laura’s writing,” he stated simply. Erica’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. His hand trailed gently over the letters, the Ouija board forgotten for now.

“Have you ever seen that before?” she asked.

“No,” he responded.

This must have been put in this box by her at some point after that stormy night. He found his eyes beginning to swim already, and although he wanted to blame it on the dust, he knew he couldn’t. Not really. He looked up to the rafters, trying to get control of his emotions that were threatening to spill over. He inhaled deeply, the stale smell of the attic settling him, and he looked back down and gently slid the envelope open.   
  


_ Der. _

_ I kinda hope you never find this. Cause if you do, and you read it, you’ll just be pissed at me. Really pissed. But hey—serves you right. You took my Nirvana CD and then scratched it so it skips all the way through In Bloom, and I was mad at you, alright? Still kinda am. That track is the shit. _

_ Anyways. _

_ *insert deep breaths here*  _

_ I need you to know that I faked the Ouija board thing. Jackson’s a kid that I met at that summer camp that Peter forced me to go to. He was a real douchebag, and I thought it’d be funny to get back at you and make his name appear. So I pushed the letter thing that night of the storm. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. But...then you took it so seriously, and I realized it wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be. _

_ I’m sorry, Der. I had NO idea you’d get so attached to that name. I mean, you carved it into your door! If I had known, I wouldn’t have done it. Hopefully you’ll forgive me when you get this—if I haven’t confessed already. I kinda feel guilty whenever I find another one of your love notes. _

_ The thing is, I kinda like that you’re obsessed with the One True Love thing. I mean, it’s what Mom and Dad had. They always talked about how they knew they were meant for each other after their first date, and there was electricity and fireworks and all that jazz. And I love the idea that “soulmates” is maybe something that they passed on to us. I love your fire and your passion and your heart. You remind me so much of mom. Someone (probably not Jackson—because he’s a douche—but SOMEONE) is gonna fall SO HARD for you, and make a stupid idiot of themselves over you, because you’re pretty stinking amazing, Derek Hale. I can’t wait to see it. _

_ Anyways. I hope you can forgive me. I love you, you big softie. _

__ Love, Laur.  
  
  


Derek read the letter. Then reread it, and read it again, and again until he couldn’t see and his tears dripped onto the ink, smearing it and threatening to wash the words away completely. He roughly scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

He handed the letter to Erica and then walked the few steps to look out of the attic window. It was hazy with dust, and there was a small crack in the corner, but he could still see over the preserve, the land that surrounded the property lush and full and green, the fading light of evening turning everything a blend of oranges and reds—another perfect Californian sunset, one he was having trouble appreciating at the moment.

He heard Erica’s gasp as she read, but he remained at the window, staring and thinking. So many thoughts running through his head, so many emotions to consider. Which was the right one? None of them felt right. Anger was too strong. Heartbreak was too dramatic. Foolishness was too belated. Finally, the emotion that felt the most comfortable burst out of him—in laughter.

He gripped the window frame and laughed with his whole body, bent over and shaking with it. The tears that flowed moments before continued, but this time he caught them with the back of his hand.

“Der? Are you okay?”

“Oh my god. This whole thing was a prank. A prank!  _ Oh my god. _ ” 

Derek could look back as this being The Moment. The moment he could finally let go of Jackson Whittemore. His heart constricted a bit as he thought about it, thought about letting go of this security blanket he’d held onto forever.. But he couldn’t do it anymore. Laura obviously wouldn’t have wanted him to. She’d probably kill him if she found out what he had done. He couldn’t insulate himself anymore. He was tired of it. He was done.

Erica was tentative. “And you’re...laughing?”

“Yes, Erica. It  _ has _ to be funny. Otherwise, my entire life is just sad. Oh, not just sad, but completely fucking heartbreaking. So yes, it has to be funny.” He lifted his head to the ceiling and called out loud, “The joke is on me! You got me sis! Oh, and also? You listened to that damn song so much and it made me crazy, so I broke your CD on purpose so I wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore!”

He looked back at Erica, tears running down his face. “I mean, in terms of most thorough joke ever, what she pulled off kind of takes the cake, right?”

Erica slowly walked towards him, her expression sincere, her voice soft. “But...what if it wasn’t a joke?”

Derek huffed out a burst of incredulous laughter. “What? She said in the letter that it was. What else would it be?”

Erica’s hands came up to rest on his shoulders. “Just listen. What if Laura’s choosing that name, even as a joke, was fate at work? What if he was chosen for you? Chosen to be the love of your life?”

“Chosen for me?  _ Erica _ . Jackson is engaged to someone else! How could he possibly be the love of my life?”

_ “I’m not talking about Jackson, you dumbass! _ ” she insisted, her voice rising at him. “I’m talking about Jackson’s name leading you to  _ Stiles _ !”

“Stiles?” Derek shook his head and pulled back from her, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the window. Stiles couldn’t be the love of his life. They had only met just a few months ago, and spent less than 48 hours together. Stiles had told him that he was in love, but it was ridiculous. No one falls in love that fast. 

Right?

Suddenly, Derek was completely unsure. What if Erica was right? What if Laura, in all of her trickery, had actually stumbled onto something real? That all of it—the Ouija board, the carving into his wall, the holding on to hope, the ridiculous relationship with Paige, the traveling to Italy—what if all of it was for a reason? Derek thought again about Italy—he felt like all he thought about was Italy. About Stiles’ dancing with him in the square, speaking Italian, driving through the countryside, talking for hours, picking out his clothes, straightening his tie...the kissing. That connection was  _ real _ . Realer than anything Derek had ever felt, and it seemed like Stiles had felt it, too, enough to say it was love. And then Stiles had been stupid and impulsive and had conjured up a scheme unlike almost anything he had ever heard of before. But...he apologized. Stiles’  _ dad _ had even apologized for him.

But then any warm feelings were immediately doused in ice water as he remembered yesterday at the museum. The look on Stiles’ face just before Derek walked away from him. Derek’s hands pulled at his hair before he shoved both of them into his pockets, constricting them, holding them in. His shoulders rounded, trying to curl in on himself in shame. 

His voice came out in a broken whisper. “I fucked everything up with Stiles. Why would he ever want to try anything with me?”

Erica stepped into Derek’s space, enveloping him in her arms, and he whispered into her shoulder. “I’m a fucking disaster, Erica. You didn’t see his face at the gallery. I destroyed him. Why would he ever forgive me?”

Erica tightened her grip around him. Her voice was quiet but firm. “This whole thing? It’s all fucked up. But you have to go and talk to him. You think you’re a disaster, but you’re really pretty amazing.” She loosened her grip and pulled back to look him in the eyes. “You have an incredible job, friends, a kickass car. You’re smart, you worked from the ground up to be self-supported and independent and you did it. You’re a wonder. You just messed up in this one area—just like Stiles did. Your whole life you’ve been saying, ‘One day, this will all be worth it.’ What if ‘one day’ is right now?”

Derek’s voice was so small. “He probably won’t even talk to me. God, it looks like I went there just to reject him.”

Erica shrugged. “Maybe he won’t talk to you. But he won’t change his mind if you don’t try. Tell him you’re an idiot. Tell him you made a mistake. Tell him about Laura. If he says no, then you’ll know it wasn’t meant to be.”

Erica rubbed her belly unconsciously. “I just want there to be a happily ever after for you, too.”

He groaned into her shoulder. “Oh my god, I am  _ such _ an idiot. I fucked this up so bad.”

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Yeah, you did. Now you have to go and fucking  _ fix it. _ ”

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled back from her.

“He has his gallery opening tomorrow night, right?” Erica asked. 

Derek nodded in agreement. 

“Well, it seems to me like fate herself has set up the perfect opportunity for you to try to fix things.”

“Oh, so you’re believing in fate now?”

“Hey, if this works out, we’re basing all our future decisions on what that Ouija board says.”

Derek took in a deep breath. Was this really another chance? Could he really fix things with Stiles? Would Stiles even want to see him again? The thought of going back to San Francisco was both exciting and absolutely terrifying, but he knew he had to try. He had to apologize. He had to find out if there was still a chance.

“Okay. I’ll head to San Francisco tomorrow.”

Erica bounced up and down on her toes. “ _ Yes _ ! I have a feeling this time, Derek. This time is going to be different.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She gently punched his upper arm. “You know I’m always right. Now...take me to get a late dinner. I’m starving, and I want Chinese food.”

Derek took her arm and led her toward the attic steps. “Don’t you have a husband that feeds you?”

“Oh, he already did. This is second dinner.”

Derek led Erica to the stairway, holding her hand as she descended the steps. Derek began down the stairs, but stopped and turned back for the light. Before he flipped the switch, he closed his eyes. He imagined sitting on the floor with Laura, knee to knee on that rainy afternoon. He imagined the lightning that lit up her face, the joy and probably the mischievous glint that always seemed to be in her eyes. His heart ached to see her again, for all the time they had shared, and all the time that was stolen from them.

“It’s okay, Laur,” he whispered into the empty space. “I forgive you. Now I have to hope Stiles will, too.” He opened his eyes. “I love you.” 

His last glimpse in the attic before he switched off the light, was of the forgotten Ouija board, lying atop his parent’s trunk.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Chinese food, fortunes (“I’m not opening mine, Erica. No more hocus pocus, I have enough to worry about.”), driving Erica home, crashing way too late. In the morning, Derek took his time getting ready before Erica and Boyd came over to help him get ready.

Erica chose a simple dark blue button down, black tie, and gray dress pants for him, Boyd nodding his approval. Erica beckoned him to turn around, and she slid a jacket on his shoulders—Stiles’ jacket from Italy. 

Derek scrunched his eyebrows at her while she adjusted the sleeves. “Don’t you think showing up to his museum wearing his clothes will send the wrong message?”

Boyd’s head see-sawed for a moment before he spoke, his deep voice with a hint of sarcasm. “Well, if anything, it will give you a chance to give it back.”

Erica eyed Derek up and down for a moment, before declaring, “You do look really sexy in it.”

Boyd nudged her in the side, a half-smile on his face. Erica nudged him back, whispering, “You know I only have eyes for you, baby.”

Derek slipped his hands in the pockets, pulling the jacket down. He frowned a bit as he felt a small piece of paper slide between his fingers. He pulled it out to discover it was a fortune from last night’s dinner. He cocked an eyebrow at Erica, who shrugged at him.

“It seemed appropriate,” she stated. 

He turned the paper over and read,  _ You will be rewarded for your efforts. _

“God, I hope so,” Derek exhaled.

“You  _ will _ ,” Erica insisted. “Now go and charm the pants off his cute, spastic ass.”

The drive back to San Francisco went relatively quickly, and before Derek knew it, he was standing at the entrance to the Legion of Honor once again, fidgeting with his jacket and taking deep, calming breaths. Though, he wasn’t sure if they were actually calming him, because his palms were sweating and his heart was pounding and he felt like he might throw up at any minute. 

Right. Deep, calming breaths.

He walked through the atrium, glad that Erica had insisted on picking out his clothes, since everyone was wearing evening wear for the opening gala. Large banners flanked the sides of the atrium, proudly boasting about the newest exhibit at the museum. He was pleased as he walked through the groups of people chattering excitedly about the exhibition. Stiles’ work was coming to fruition, and all of these people were eager to appreciate it. Derek scanned the room, looking for Stiles, but he came up empty.

_ Maybe he’s outside _ .

Derek stepped around a few people and made his way out to the courtyard where the larger pieces were displayed. Derek shoved down the memory of being here two days ago, the look on Stiles’ face, and concentrated instead on looking for the handsome art director.

The courtyard had a bar set up near the center, and several cafe tables spread around the space, groups of people gathered around them. Wait staff were skirting around the tables, offering hors d’oeuvres and drinks, and the crowd was larger here, talking animatedly and making introductions. He heard several people congratulating each other, but Stiles was not among them. 

Derek stepped to the side, away from the crowd a bit, and scanned the courtyard for Stiles. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and it would only get harder to find him as the dusky light faded to black. He was just about to give up and go look around inside again when he looked beyond the crowd to the far end of the courtyard. There stood Stiles, tall and thin and solitary, in a suit that fit him entirely too well, standing close to a painting at the far end of the courtyard and staring up at it with his hands clasped behind his back.

Derek held back and watched him for a moment as a member of the wait staff approached him with a tray of drinks, only to be waved off seconds later.

This was Stiles’ big night, and he was standing all alone. A rush of guilt passed through Derek.  _ He _ did that. Stiles should be celebrating, drinking, getting congratulatory pats on the back and recognition and acknowledgement. But instead, he was standing all alone on the biggest night of his career, a picture of solitude. Derek he hoped it wasn’t too late to change it.

Derek’s palms felt hot and clammy again, and his breath quickened as he realized that the time was now. He wiped his hands on the front of his jacket and began walking toward Stiles.

His path was blocked suddenly by an imposing older man in a vintage-looking suit coat, and a diminutive redhead with her arms crossed. Derek blinked in surprise as he realized who they were. “Lydia? And...Sheriff Stilinski, sir.”

“You traveled a long way to get here tonight, son. Might I ask what you think you’re doing?”

Lydia’s expression was hard, her posture tall and imposing, though her height—even with those sky-high heels—was at least a foot shorter than his own. The Sheriff carried a formidable pose as well, his years of law-enforcement preparing him for moments just like this one: guarded, solemn, intimidating.

They were protecting Stiles. From him.

Derek searched for what to say, a million things and nothing simultaneously bouncing around his mind. How could he possibly defend himself? How could he possibly convince them to let him through to talk to Stiles? He wouldn’t let  _ himself _ through if he were in their position. His mouth opened and closed a few times, words that felt wildly inadequate dying abruptly on his tongue before he could convey his apologies, his explanations, his grief.

A long moment passed, the silence stretching between them, before Derek finally, haltingly, whispered, “I love him.”

At the words, the knot that had been wound around Derek’s chest for months, ever since the disastrous date in Italy, loosened and fell off completely. He felt a calm assurance that he couldn’t remember feeling in such a long time, he wondered if he had ever felt it before at all.

Lydia and the Sheriff looked side-eyed at each other for a brief moment, before the Sheriff gave a barely perceptible nod.

Lydia raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in return, then leveled her gaze back to Derek.

Derek couldn’t keep quiet anymore, not with the confidence that his declaration had filled him with. “Lydia? Sheriff?  _ I love him _ . So much that—”

“Stop.” Lydia uncrossed her arms and held up one finger in the space between them. Derek stepped back slightly, taken aback for a moment, before his mind sprung into action. He had to make her understand. He had to show the two of them that he wanted to take care of Stiles for the rest of his life. He knew how important Lydia was to Stiles. If she didn’t agree to this, then there was no way he’d ever convince Stiles. Not to mention Stiles’ father… No. He  _ had _ to convince them.

“But I just need you to know that he is the best thing—”

“I said stop, Hale. Save it.” Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him, then threw her glance over her shoulder to where Stiles still stood all alone. “Save it  _ for him _ .”

Derek blinked for a moment in confusion. He looked to Stiles’ dad, who no longer looked imposing, but warily optimistic. The wrinkles around his eyes formed a little more deeply as a hesitant smile appeared on his face, a nod of assurance from his head.

They were saying okay? 

_ Oh my god. _

Derek looked back to Lydia, who stepped toward him, her long nail pressing gently against the zipper of his jacket, just a suggestion of malice there. “But if you intentionally hurt him again…?”

Derek nodded vigorously. He hoped that Stiles knew how lucky he was to have a friend like Lydia. He gave her a wry smile and added, “I’m sure that what I can imagine you’d do to me is but a mere whisper of what you’re actually capable of.”

Lydia smiled broadly, and a stifled chuckle erupted from the Sheriff, as well. She nodded back at him. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

The Sheriff extended his hand, and pleasantly surprised, Derek took it; a firm handshake between the two men a promise between them. “Good luck, son.”

Derek swallowed hard and managed a small smile and a nod. He released the handshake and Lydia and the Sheriff parted, allowing Derek to walk between them.

The night was cooling down quickly, the sun fading in the distance. The light illuminated the dusky sky behind Stiles, and Derek’s breath caught as he walked slowly toward him. He had rehearsed what to say a million times over on the drive. He had thought it through and had a good, solid plan of what to say. But now, walking toward Stiles’ silhouette in the fading sun, Derek felt his mouth go dry and all of his carefully practiced words disappear like vapor.

Derek ended up slightly behind and to the left of where Stiles was standing, staring at the painting. Derek’s tongue was still tied, but he did manage to look up and was taken aback when he realized that Stiles was standing in front of the blue and white painting—the one that Derek had said was his favorite piece in the exhibit. 

“Stiles?”

He had been standing still in front of the painting, but at Derek’s voice, Stiles’ entire being seemed to tighten and freeze into place. He didn’t move for a moment or two, and when he slowly turned to face Derek, he had an inscrutable look on his face. But his eyes were watery, and when he was fully facing Derek, he quickly wiped his face with his hands.

“Wh—what are you doing here?”

“I—” Derek started, then huffed with frustration at his own inabilities. Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say? Instead, he looked up at the painting again. He felt the same home feeling flow through him as he looked up at it, the same feeling of security he had felt two days ago. The same feeling that had led him to almost say yes to Stiles. He needed that feeling again. At that moment, what he needed to say was simple.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

He looked away from the painting to see Stiles regarding him carefully, his hands still clasped behind his back. With the light of the sunset behind him, Derek couldn’t completely make out his expression. He had no idea if he had been heard, if what Derek said had registered at all, so he continued.

“I’m so sorry I ran from you. I’ve never been good at this, and I really  _ really _ wasn’t good at it the other day. It was all so much all of a sudden, and when the opportunity came to run, I didn’t even think, I just took it.”

Stiles turned back to the painting, and Derek felt his heart break a bit, but he pressed on anyway. “I am sure it looked like I just came here to rub Jackson in your face, or that I came here to hurt you, but I hope you’ll believe me when I say it wasn’t. Erica’s phone call was a complete surprise to me, and my reaction to it was…” Derek looked down. He hated admitting his childish behavior. But Stiles deserved to hear it.

“I’m embarrassed I left you that way. I’m so sorry.”

Derek looked up, hopeful about seeing Stiles’ face, but he was still facing the painting. Derek was happy to see that his body had unclenched since the initial surprise of Derek’s voice, but he was giving no other sign of accepting Derek’s words.

The sun had faded completely from the courtyard, and gentle evening lighting from the party cast the space with a faint warm glow. Derek could see Stiles’ expression was unchanged. Derek’s shoulders slumped. That was it. He had apologized, and Stiles wanted nothing to do with it. He stood for a moment or two, hoping for something from Stiles, but when nothing changed, he decided to say goodbye and leave quietly.

Then, just as Derek was about to leave, Stiles unclenched his hands from behind his back and shoved them in his pockets, clearing his throat before he began to speak, his voice low and cautious. 

“When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the color blue. Had my school notebooks and my shirts, all blue. I even insisted on buying a special plate and utensil set so I could have that be blue, too. Mom and I went and picked out paint one weekend for my room, and we spent the whole weekend painting my room a color that looked just like this one.”

Stiles nodded toward the painting in front of them before continuing, “This is my favorite painting in this exhibit, has been since it first arrived. Because it makes me feel like I’m back with my mom again. It makes me feel like I’m in one of my dad’s old flannels, with the sleeves that were too big and dipping into the paint, my mom singing Diana Ross and the Supremes into the paintbrushes and laughing together until our sides ached. At one point in the weekend, we were painting the trim around my window white, and I tripped over the corner of the ladder and sent a trail of white paint onto the blue wall that we had worked so hard on. I remember feeling so low, like I had messed up something perfect. But my mom, she just kneeled down and said that it made my room unique, just like me. This painting, with the blue and the white lines looks just like that moment. This painting makes me feel like home.”

Derek’s gaze flew to Stiles’ profile.  _ Like home? _ It was exactly how Derek felt about the painting—he had told Stiles that, too. It’s why he was drawn to it. Derek watched Stiles lower his head slowly, turning to look at Derek with a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah. It’s what you said, too. I don’t know if you could tell what it did to me when you said that. I mean, I knew I loved you before, in Italy. Falling in love like that is not something had never happened to me before. That immediate, intense feeling? It was scary to me. It was so big and so...sudden. But when you talked about these paintings, it made my love for you even more real. It made my feelings less scary, because I could see  _ you _ . When you said that, it was like the walls were down. There were no lies between us, and there you were, talking about these paintings, these pieces of my soul, in the same way that I’ve been seeing them for months.”

Stiles turned completely to Derek, his face earnest. “I love you, Derek Hale. I love your heart, I love your past, I love your broken pieces. I love your commitment to a dream that you held with your sister for so long. And it’s okay, if you need to wait for Jackson, just to see. I get it.” His voice softened and became more hesitant. “I want you to be completely sure of us. I want you to be sure of  _ me _ , and so I—”

“—Stiles, wait.” Derek took a step toward him, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt an incessant energy flowing through his body, but he kept it as still as possible. He didn’t want to miss the chance to tell Stiles everything. “You don’t understand. First, I found out the Ouija board was a joke. My sister knew a jerk named Jackson and made the board say his name. So the whole thing was a fake.” Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. “But also—I  _ met _ Jackson. The real one. And it was obvious that he was completely wrong for me. He doesn’t even compare to who I really want.  _ You, _ Stiles Stilinski.  _ You _ are who I want. I have wanted you ever since you kneeled in front of me holding my shoe like fucking Prince Charming in the flesh. The name Jackson Whittemore brought us together, but  _ you _ are the one that I want to give my heart to. That is, if you still want it.”

Stiles’ mouth was partially open, his full eyebrows slightly scrunched together. Derek couldn’t decide if he was confused or angry or… Derek hoped to have forever to catalogue all of Stiles’ expressions, commit every single one of them to memory, but right now he had to wait. And the wait was interminable.

Finally, Stiles’ eyebrows relaxed and raised slightly, his entire face softening at once. Derek fixated on the slight smile at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and he felt lighter suddenly. Stiles exhaled softly, stepping forward into Derek’s space, and he felt a buzzing of electricity kindle between them immediately. Derek felt his entire body begin to hum under the surface.

“Do I want it?” Stiles asked, his eyelids drooping slightly. “ _ God _ , Derek. I— I want…” 

He shook his head. “I want to try this again.” He stepped back slightly and extended his right hand in between them. “Hi. My name is Stiles Stilinski. I’m a hopeless romantic, obsessed with the Mets and Iron Man and Reese’s cups.” Stiles dealt Derek a full-wattage smile. “What’s your name?”

Derek looked down at the hand that remained stretched out between them, then back up to the hopeful expectancy he found in the eyes of the man in front of him. Derek smiled back at him and extended his own hand, grasping Stiles’ warm fingers within his own. He felt the long fingers wrap around the back of his hand, and he heard the slow exhale from Stiles as they pressed their palms together. The electricity that had been buzzing between them ignited at the point of contact and shot up Derek’s arm when their fingers touched. It flooded his body with warmth, and he couldn’t help but run his thumb in an absent-minded pattern on the back of Stiles’ hand.

Derek cleared his throat. “I’m Derek Hale. I love Captain America, American muscle cars...and skinny art majors who live in San Francisco.”

“Really? You love me?” Stiles’ pleasantly surprised look was Derek’s undoing.

He shook his head in bewilderment. “God help me, I really do.”

They stared at each other for a long beat before Stiles huffed. “For the love of God, can I just kiss you already?”

Derek had just enough time to give a brief nod and catch his breath before he pulled Stiles toward him by their joined hands. Stiles let go and captured Derek’s cheeks in both of his hands, while Derek wound both of his behind Stiles’ back. Their lips pressed together urgently, and Derek loved hearing the soft, contented noise that Stiles released from the back of his throat at the same time. Stiles gently pressed on the back of Derek’s neck with his long fingers, urging him to deepen the kiss. Derek’s right hand stayed low on Stiles’ back, his left hand sliding up to spread wide between his shoulder blades, holding him in place. Their bodies fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, while their lips pressed together over and over in a breathtaking rhythm. Derek knew he was making soft sounds against Stiles’ lips, gentle whimpers that Stiles caught with his tongue that licked tentatively into his mouth at first, and then with more insistence when Derek opened up for him.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl under the intensity of their kisses, and Derek had no idea how much time had passed when he pulled away slightly, giving a soft, half-smile at Stiles’ whimper of indignation. Stiles’ mouth was deliciously wrecked, his eyes glassy, and Derek felt a swell of pride in making him look that way. He dropped a gentle line of kisses along the side of Stiles’ mouth, along his jaw and up to his temple, and Stiles let out a contented sigh, his hands sliding down Derek’s chest and then around his back to pull him even closer.

“I was so right—this jacket looks way better on you than it ever did on me,” Stiles uttered softly, his breath hitching when Derek took one of his earlobes in between his teeth. Derek felt Stiles shiver under his hands.

Derek ran his tongue along the shell of Stiles’ ear, He loved the feeling of Stiles’ long fingers curling into the fabric of the jacket, the way their bodies pressed together, feeling so right. He chuckled softly into Stiles’ ear. “Damn, I was hoping to hear more of that ‘I was born to kiss you’ talk.” 

Stiles pulled back. ”Hey now. I thought we agreed to rewind time and ignore that I said that! I was in the thrall of passion, alright?”

Derek smirked, keeping his tight hold on Stiles’ back, not letting him pull away too far. He nudged underneath Stiles’ chin with the tip of his nose, and kissed a line down his throat. “And how about now?”

Stiles’ voice was a strained whisper, “Oh, I’m  _ definitely _ in the thrall of passion.” Stiles shifted his hands downward to the swell of Derek’s ass, his fingers teasing just under the edge of his jacket, along the waistband of his pants. It caused Derek’s knees to buckle a bit, his eyes closed.

“Stiles, as much as I would— _ oh god _ —love to continue this, I think this is kind of a big night for you.”

Stiles froze for a moment, his nose buried somewhere behind Derek’s left ear. “Shit,” he hissed. “Is my boss watching?”

“Umm…” Derek slowly opened his eyes and looked over Stiles’ shoulder to scan the crowd. The first people Derek saw were Lydia and the Sheriff, who both failed miserably at concealing their smiles. They both awkwardly turned to each other after locking eyes with Derek, and quickly tried to hide behind their drinks. Derek huffed quietly in laughter.

“What is it?” Stiles pulled back like he’d been burned, and looked around wildly. “Oh god, I’m going to be fired the night of my first show for making out with my boyfriend...and whoa, that label just came out of me, I’m sorry. We haven’t even discussed the boyfriend thing yet, and there I go using the title on you without any thought whatsoever. I mean, I’m pretty much one hundred percent on board with the boyfriend thing but I get if you want to take it slow, in fact, we  _ should _ take it slow because we’ve only known each other for like, 52 hours total, but god I want to know you so much better and especially because you look like, ridiculously sexy with that jacket and your eyes and your ears flushing red—oh god, are they flushing red because of what I’m saying, or because I’m embarrassing you? I’m really embarrassing  _ myself _ at this point and I should just shut up now, huh, and go find my boss because I’m supposed to give a speech in front of everyone and I need to make sure my cheeks aren’t flushed too badly. Do I look okay?”

Derek was just barely containing his laughter at this point. Listening to Stiles’ train of thought, all he could think was,  _ wow, this is going to be so much fun _ . His whole life had been contained and restrained, and although there was always an underlying hope, he had squashed it for so long. Now with Stiles, he would be able to let loose and explore and be free to love again. He couldn’t wait to get started.

“Derek? Did I break you? Do you… Are you changing your mind about being with me? I know I can be a bit much sometimes.”

Derek wrapped his fingers around the lapels on Stiles’ jacket, and pulled him close, until their chests brushed together, and he watched with amusement as Stiles’ eyes flickered back and forth between his eyes and his lips, apparently undecided about where he wanted to focus his attention. Derek, for his part, was staring at Stiles’ mouth, slightly pinker than before, lips wet from where he kept rubbing his tongue across them out of nervousness. It was damn distracting. Derek reached up and tugged on his chin, smiling as Stiles brought his eyes back up to lock with Derek’s.

“I’m more in love with you now than I was when I got here, Stiles.”

Stiles practically melted against Derek’s chest. “Oh, thank god.”

“Now,” Derek said, straightening slightly and pushing Stiles gently upright, smoothing out his jacket and straightening his tie. “Get yourself together, get over there and charm the pants off everyone in this place. And after you’ve done that, can we...go somewhere?”

Stiles nodded rapidly, then smiled and gave Derek a quick peck on the lips. He walked around Derek toward the crowd, and Derek watched him go, appreciating the view for just a few moments.

This was going to work. There were logistics to work out, sure, but Derek knew without a single doubt in his mind, that this was  _ it _ . He and Stiles...things like this didn’t just happen. They had more than one bump in the winding road to this place, but going forward, it was going to be worth it. They’d figure it all out...together.

He looked aside to the painting again, the one that reminded him of home. It felt to him like late spring afternoons in his room with Laura, listening to music and arguing about nothing, rain pelting their windows and keeping them inside. It felt like doodles in a notebook and watching movies in the dark and poking each other to try to find ticklish spots. It felt like teasings about destiny and love notes and a hidden space under the floor in his room that held his dreams. He’d waited forever for this moment, and now that it was here, it was even better than he could have imagined.

He looked from the painting to the crowd, where he easily found Stiles talking animatedly with some museum guests. Stiles looked over and gave Derek a quick smile and wave before joining back in the conversation. Derek’s heart swelled with the overwhelming feeling that flowed through him—the feeling of peace and contentment that he had always wanted.

Derek lifted his head to the darkened sky, the light pollution from the city obscuring all of the stars. After a moment, one star appeared just above where he was standing. It flickered through the atmosphere, and seemed to be winking down at him. Derek smiled, imagining Laura looking down on him and giving him a wink and a smile of her own.

“Hey Laur,” Derek whispered aloud to the night sky. “I found him. Thanks for the help.”

 

 


	8. Epilogue

 

********************

**Epilogue - One Year Later  
  
**

*******************

 

Derek stepped out of the passenger side of Erica’s car onto the gravel driveway of the Hale House. He smiled gently as he looked up at the structure, squinting slightly in the sun, and catalogued all the changes over the years. The porch with a new swing, the flowerbeds that had just been planted, the bags of cement piled on the side of the house.

“You guys going to pave over the driveway soon?” he asked over his shoulder, gesturing to the bags.

The driver’s side door slammed shut and Erica walked around the front of the car, her sneakers kicking up little puffs of dust as she walked. 

“Yep, that’s the plan,” she said. “There’s no good place for kids to ride bikes here. Is that okay?”

“The house is  _ yours _ , Erica.”

“Well, not  _ officially _ . I still can’t believe you’re selling it.”

“I can’t believe I’m selling it to  _ you _ ,” Derek teased, as he leaned into her shoulder and smirked. Erica playfully punched his arm back, and he grabbed it in fake pain. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “We close in 20 days, Erica. You can do whatever you want to the house. In my mind, it’s been yours for a while anyway.”

“Well, I’m keeping your carvings in the door, you know. I can’t wait to tell Alicia about how her Uncle Derek was a big fat sap when it came to love.”

“I’ll blame it on her Uncle Stiles. It’s his fault I’m a sap.” Derek felt his face flush. It had been a year since the exhibit opening, and things between the two of them had been better than even Derek could have imagined them being. They had both kept their jobs in their own towns for a while, committing to just getting to know each other better, with lots of weekend visits thrown in. But with Lydia recommending his work around town, and his business gaining momentum, Derek was getting more and more work in San Francisco. So when Stiles suggested getting a place together, it seemed like the perfect time to sell the place in Beacon Hills and move. Leaving Erica and Boyd was going to be the hardest part, but with Stiles’ dad still in town, they’d be visiting often.

“Thank you again,” Erica said with a smile.

“You know, you don’t have to thank me every time we come here.”

“ _ I know _ , dork. But the fact is you wildly under-priced this house for us, and...I’m just grateful, that’s all.”

“Noted. Now, if you really want to show your gratitude, you can help me finish packing up the attic.”

“ _ There’s _ the catch I was waiting for! Look, I would simply  _ love _ to help you, Der Bear, but Alicia needs to be fed in about…” She squeezed her arms around her chest and appeared deep in thought for a moment, then continued, “...20 minutes. Unless you think Boyd can breastfeed our daughter, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a packing buddy until Stiles gets here.”

“Lazy bum,” Derek teased. “It’s fine, I don’t need you anyway. He’ll be here in an hour or so. There’s only a few boxes left.”

They walked arm-in-arm up to the house together, Derek holding the door for her as they walked in. There were boxes scattered around the first floor—a mixture of Derek’s final items and Boyd and Erica’s first few loads—and they weaved around the small piles in the entryway before ascending the steps.

“How is the apartment looking in San Fran?” Erica asked him.

“Stiles said it looks good. The renovations finished just before my boxes arrived last week, and between those and the ones that he’s brought over from his apartment, we won’t even be able to move around in there for a few days. We’ll have to unload boxes just to get in the door.”

“Moving is a bitch. I’m so glad Boyd insisted on a moving company for us.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re pregnant again, and he won’t let you lift a finger, right?”

“I mean, that was a bonus!” she smirked. Derek rounded the corner to take the steps up to the attic, and Erica followed him. “Though, the nausea with this pregnancy combined with a 5-month-old was definitely  _ not _ in the plan.”

“So it’s true that you two are making your own wolfpack?” Derek eyed her and couldn’t help his snort of laughter.

Erica shouted at the ceiling, “Isaac Lahey, I am going to  _ kill you!”  _

Derek chuckled. “Give the kid a break, he’s just excited to have more responsibilities in the office while you’re out on maternity leave again.”

“I’m going to confine him to a copier for the rest of his  _ life _ . Just because I’m the SheWolf doesn’t mean I’m making a  _ wolfpack _ , for the love of God.”

“Eh, you kind of are,” Derek teased. She smacked his butt as they continued upwards.

They finally reached the top of the stairs in the attic, and Derek flipped on the light. Only a few random boxes remained, as well as his parent’s trunk. He looked around, the light through the window making swirling dust patterns in the air as he walked around.

“Is it weird?” Erica asked him quietly. “Having everything out of the house?”

Derek shrugged. “Not really. This hasn’t been home for me in such a long time. I’m not even keeping a lot of the stuff that was here. Sold most of the furniture already to a staging company.”

“What about that?” Erica nodded toward the trunk.

Derek exhaled. “ _ That _ is coming with me. Some of my parent’s stuff is still in there. I want to show it to Stiles.”

Erica stepped toward the trunk and gently opened the lid. “Not to mention this.” She bent down and pulled out the Ouija board box.

Derek groaned. “And that thing.”

Erica shook the box gently, wagging her eyebrows at Derek. “Whaddya say, Der Bear? Play a game for old time’s sake?”

Derek’s eyebrows were probably in his hairline by now. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Aww, what’s the problem, Der? Worried about what it’ll say now that you found your perfect man and your perfect job and your perfect apartment?” She gave him a challenging look.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” she continued. “It doesn’t do anything anyway, we’ll just have fun with it for old time’s sake.” She started sitting down on the dusty floor, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m  _ playing the game _ , Derek. And you are, too. Don’t you know you don’t argue with a pregnant woman? It’s not good for the baby.”

Derek gave an exasperated sigh and sat down next to her, crossing his legs across from the board she had already begun to set up between them. “I think it’s interesting that I only heard about that rule after  _ you _ became pregnant.”

“Well, it’s true. Don’t argue.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “So, what should we ask it?”

“I’m not asking it  _ anything _ . I’ve had enough run-ins with that heebie-jeebie hocus-pocus shit for my entire lifetime.  _ You _ can ask it something if you want.”

“Fine, I will.” She put her fingertips on the indicator. When Derek made no move to join her, she gave a pointed throat-clearing noise, and raised her eyebrows at him. Then she looked down to the indicator and back up at Derek. He rolled his eyes and put his fingertips on the indicator with hers.

“Now, relax,” Erica stated in a low tone. “We must get in tune with the spirits.”

“Oh, for the—”

“ _ Shhhh! _ ” Erica interrupted. “Close your eyes, Derek. The spirits won’t come unless your eyes are closed.”

Derek was beginning to wonder why he put up with Erica’s nonsense at all. He was looking around the attic, taking stock of how many trips it would take to get all of the remaining boxes down to the first floor, when he felt Erica’s eyes on him. She reached out her index finger and placed it on top of his own, her fingernail pressing just harder than necessary into his skin.

_ Oh, for god’s sake. _

He rolled his eyes pointedly at her, then closed his eyes with an exaggerated huff. He raised his eyelids at her as if to say,  _ okay? _

“Thank you.” She removed her nail from his finger and continued to speak in an overly-exaggerated dramatic voice.

“Oh, great spirits of the beyond! Show us the answers we seek! Give us the name of Derek’s One True Love!”

Derek’s eyes flew open and he pulled back like the indicator was on fire. “ _ What the fuck _ , Erica!?”

Erica started cackling. “Oh, come on, Derek! It’s just silliness! The thing doesn’t work anyway, remember? Plus, you and Stiles are perfect. Not even the Ouija board would mess with the two of you. Let’s just prove that this is broken once and for all!”

He really shouldn’t. He should throw the Ouija board back into the box, walk it immediately outside and into the trash can. But Erica was giving him a “dare ya” look, and he knew she would never let it go. Plus, she was right. He and Stiles were rock solid. No answer from the dumb board at this point would change anything. Especially since it wouldn’t even do anything in the first place. 

So what could it hurt?

He exhaled through his nose, and put his fingertips back on the indicator. “ _ Fine _ ,” he huffed. “But you are definitely buying us lunch for this one.” He closed his eyes and waited.

There was quiet for a few moments. Derek was just about to get up when the indicator started moving.  _ Haha, Erica. So funny. _ He didn’t even want to know what she was doing, so he rolled his eyes under his lids, but kept them closed. He wasn’t interested in what she was using the board to say. He felt it move a bit and pause, move a bit and pause again, then move a longer distance and stop.

_ Really, Erica? Only two letters? _

The room was quiet, the indicator still, and he felt Erica move her hands away. Derek slowly opened his eyes to the indicator, which was lying on the word  _ goodbye _ . He looked up at Erica, who was staring at the board, her eyes wide and a little glazed over. 

“Well?” Derek asked her. “Did you see what it said?”

At his words, Erica shook her head minutely, then moved to pick up the board. “See?” Derek noticed her voice was a little higher than usual.  _ That’s weird _ . “This thing really is stupid, because you and Stiles are perfect and getting married and it’s still giving out bogus answers.”

Derek put his hand gently on her knee and she stopped moving. “Erica, come on, I know you were moving the piece around. What two letters did you pick? Was it J.W. again? Or something new this time?” He smirked at her.

Erica’s voice was definitely breathy when she answered. “You weren’t pushing the thing?”

“Are you kidding me?  _ No _ , I wasn’t moving it! You were!” Derek noticed that Erica’s face didn’t have the slightest hint of a joke to it anymore. The earlier lightness in her expression was gone. She was staring at the indicator that she had picked up, turning it over and over in her hands. Derek started to get worried. “Hey, Erica. What’d you make it say?”

“Derek,” she said softly. She looked up into his eyes. “I didn’t make it say anything, I swear. I thought you were moving it to fuck with me. You really didn’t move it?”

“Come on, Erica.” When she didn’t blink, Derek’s mouth dropped open for a moment. He stared at the indicator in her hands. “Okay, then. What did it say?”

Erica shook her head wildly at that, and started to grab for the box again.

Suddenly, a head popped up into the attic. “Hey guys!”

Erica jumped in fright from her spot on the floor. “ _ Jesus! _ Stiles, what the fuck? Are you trying to scare this baby out of me?”

Stiles threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve been yelling for you guys! Derek, I—  Wait...what’cha doin’ up here?”

Derek and Erica stared at each other in silence just long enough for Stiles to look at them with confusion. He hopped up the last few steps into the attic and looked around them to see what was happening.

“Are you kidding me with the Ouija board? Didn’t it cause enough trouble already?”

Derek nodded. “That’s what  _ I _ said.”

Erica swallowed heavily. “We were just being stupid! We didn’t mean anything by it. It’s totally broken anyway.”

Stiles noticed the indicator in her hand and his eyes bugged in shock. “ _ You asked it a question?!” _

Erica and Derek looked at each other guiltily.

Stiles laughed out loud again and plopped down on the floor between the two of them. “And you guys told me that investing in Bitcoin was crazy! I don’t have  _ anything _ on you two!”

He looked back and forth between Erica and Derek, his eyes expectant. “Well? What did it say?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “ _ Erica _ won’t tell me.”

Erica sighed. “I asked who Derek’s one true love is.”

“And did it say me?” Stiles smiled at Derek. “It totally said me, didn’t it? You and I are peas and carrots, baby.”

“Erica?” Derek asked. “Did it give Stiles’ initials?”

He was afraid of the answer. If Erica was trying that hard to deflect the answer earlier, there’s no way the board had said Stiles’ name. Her voice came out in a bare whisper. “No.”

Stiles flailed a bit. “Not mine? Are you sure?”

Erica rolled her eyes. “I’m sure, Stiles. It said M.S.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped.

“M.S?” Derek asked. “What the fuck does M.S. stand for?”

“ _ I don’t know, Derek! _ ” Erica glared at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to know? I thought you were messing with me!”

“I wouldn’t mess with this thing even if you paid me a million dollars, Erica!” Derek’s voice was slowly rising. He was frustrated and angry at her, and also scared of what Stiles was going to think. “Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson? I didn’t even want to do anything with it in the first place!”

Derek grabbed the indicator out of Erica’s hands and threw it into the box. He grabbed the board and was about to throw it when Stiles cleared his throat, drawing both of their attentions.

“Erica, tell the truth, okay? Did you push the piece?”

Erica slumped a bit in frustration, looking at Stiles. “ _ No _ . I know you and Derek are together. Why would I have it say M.S. when those aren’t your initials?”

Derek dropped the board between them again and chimed in, his irritation, “Because you basically live to fuck around with me?”

Erica was indignant. “Not with this, Derek! Not after last time! I would  _ never _ do something like that, are you crazy?”

“Yes!” Derek ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How was this happening to him  _ again _ ? He should have known not to give in to Erica on this. Now he was going to have these letters running through his head yet again because of that  _ stupid game _ .

No.

No,  _ fuck that. _

Derek turned to Stiles and grabbed both of his hands. “Listen to me, okay? I don’t give a fuck what that stupid board said.  _ I am yours. _ This has been the best year of my entire life, and if you think for one second that I’m going to go and search for some moron with different initials than you, then you can get that out of your head right now. I love you, Stiles. And I’m not going to let a damn board game try to take you away from me.”

Stiles’ eyes were soft and he had a slight smile on his face. It was one of Derek’s favorite facial expressions that Stiles made, and he had catalogued in his mind under the ‘ _ I love him and he’s a big dork face _ ’ tab. It threw Derek for a loop, actually. He was expecting Stiles to be upset or scared, but instead he was looking at Derek like he wanted to laugh. Stiles reached forward and put one of his hands on Derek’s jaw.

“What?”

“I love you too, big guy.” He pulled Derek gently toward him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “And I’m glad you’re not letting me go. I’m not letting you go, either.”

Derek felt the resolve flow through him. He was throwing the damn Ouija board away after this. “Good.” He rested his forehead against Stiles’, and just breathed for a moment. It was okay. They were going to be okay.

Stiles pulled back gently and looked again between him and Erica. “Also, I think it’s time that the both of you knew something really important.”

Erica raised her eyebrows. Derek was sure his matched hers. “Yeah?”

“My initials aren’t S.S. Well, not my real ones anyways.”

Derek blinked with confusion. “What do you mean, your initials aren’t S.S?”

“My real name isn’t Stiles.” He chucked a bit. “Didn’t you ever wonder what in the hell is a Stiles?”

Derek was flabbergasted. “I...I guess I... _ no! _ I thought maybe your mom was just into weird names or something! How did I not know this?”

Erica huffed. “I still don’t know your middle name, Derek Michael Hale, and I’ve known you since age 5.”

“Still not it.”

Erica slammed the ground. “Dammit!”

Stiles chuckled. “Wait. You don’t know his middle name? It’s—”

Derek slapped his hand over Stiles’ mouth, drowning the sound. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Stiles’ laughter bled through Derek’s fingertips before he pressed a kiss into his palm.

Derek pulled his hand away. “What’s your real name, Stiles?”

“It’s Miecyslaw.”

“Bless you!” Erica joked.

Stiles rolled his eyes at her. “Haha. Funny.” He turned back to Derek. “It was my great-grandfather’s name. It’s a mouthful, so I’ve gone by Stiles ever since I was little.”

“Miecyslaw,” Derek tested out.

“Nicely done! My  _ dad _ can’t even pronounce it that well.”

Derek eyed him carefully. “Your last name  _ is _ Stilinski, right?”

Stiles chuckled again. “As far as I know.”

“Miecyslaw Stilinski.” Derek said with wonder.

Stiles sat upright and pointed to himself. “M.S.”

Derek turned to look at Erica again. “You really didn’t know this?”

Erica’s eyes drifted to the board between them. “Derek, I swear. I had no idea.”

He looked down at the board, as well, picking it up gently. “And I didn’t know.”

Stiles looked at the board as well, realization setting in. “Are you guys telling me that this board  _ really works? _ ”

They stared at it for a few long moments.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Stiles started bouncing in place, and he grabbed the board and held it close. “We have got to think of something else to ask it!”

Derek groaned. “Absolutely not!”

“Come on, Derek! Think of what we could learn! This thing could be the key to our future!”

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled the board out of Stiles’ arms. “Actually, the key to our future is literally in your pocket, so I think we’re good.”

Derek warily put the board back in the box and shut it. He heard Stiles muttering under his breath, “..wasted opportunity...could be sitting on a gold mine....” and he chuckled and shook his head.

Derek pushed himself off the ground, the box in one hand, the other hand extending to help Erica off the ground. Once she was up, he reached for Stiles.

“Aw, thanks dear,” Stiles joked. When he was upright, Derek slid his arm around Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, nuzzling into the side of his neck and pressing kisses just under his ear.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you,” Derek whispered huskily.

“And that’s my cue to get out of here!” Erica teased, stepping back to the stairway. “I’m going to go home and feed Alicia. I’ll see you guys for lunch?”

Derek didn’t lift his head from Stiles’ neck. He was enjoying kissing all the goosebumps that had erupted on Stiles’ skin. His voice was muffled as he called to Erica, “You’re buying!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Derek heard the smile in her voice. “Catch you lovers later.”

Derek wrapped his other arm behind Stiles, pressing the Ouija board box against Stiles’ back as he laid more kisses against Stiles’ skin, tracing a pattern along his jaw to his mouth. 

“How was the drive?” he asked.

Stiles’ voice was breathy. “Oh, the usual. Didn’t go fast enough. It never goes fast enough when I’m trying to get to you.”

Stiles’ hands were trapped between their bodies, and so he slid them upward to slide behind Derek’s neck, his long fingers combing into Derek’s hair and scratching slightly with his stubby nails. He moved so his lips were hovering just off of Derek’s, placing feather-light kisses as Derek talked.

“Well, soon there won’t be any four-hour drives,” Derek said against Stiles’ lips. “We’ll have our own place, and then you’ll drive here to get away from me because my cleanliness will drive you crazy.”

Stiles smiled against his lips. “Pretty sure you’ll be the one driving away from me. I have an inherent inability to put my dirty socks in the hamper. I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.” Stiles tugged Derek so that he could lay a kiss on his ear. “I’m going to drive you crazy.”

The shiver that ran up Derek’s spine made his eyes roll back and he groaned as Stiles began to suck a mark just under his earlobe. “You already drive me crazy, Stiles.” 

“You love it.”

Derek nodded and pulled back. “I love _ you _ .”

Stiles grinned. Derek was in awe. Stiles’ lips were a brighter pink from trailing along the midday stubble on Derek’s jawline, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous shade of pink. His eyes were a lighter shade of whiskey from the afternoon sun that shone through the attic window. Derek had never seen someone so beautiful.

Then Stiles made a strange expression, pulled back and sneezed. Loudly.

“Babe, I have got to get out of here. The dust is gonna make me…” Another loud sneeze escaped from his lips, and Stiles struggled to cover his mouth before another one could follow.

Derek chuckled. “Okay. I’ll come back up for this stuff later.” 

Stiles reluctantly turned away from him, tapping on the Ouija board box as he did so. “Keep this thing.”

He shook his head, but he placed the Ouija board back in the trunk anyway. “I’m going to regret that.”

Stiles smirked and held out his hand. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

He allowed himself to be led down the stairs and out the front door. “What is it, Stiles?”

“Just hold on, impatient!” Stiles pulled him along the gravel drive until they were standing next to the mailbox. Stiles gestured to it with a dramatic wave of his arm. “Ta da!”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What? The mailbox?”

Stiles nodded. “Yep!”

“I don’t get any mail here, Stiles.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know, you dork. Just look, okay?”

Derek hesitated for a moment before pulling the box open. He fished his hand inside, pulling out a magazine. He gave Stiles a confused look. Stiles simply looked gleeful.

Then he remembered.

“Oh my god, is this what I think it is?”

Derek flipped over the magazine. A white-bordered cover stared back at him, with the large letters of  _ AD _ blazoned along the top. Beneath that was written the title,  _ The Architecture Issue _ .

Stiles scrunched his eyebrows together. “Now, why exactly do they call it The Architecture Issue? It’s literally  _ Architectural Digest _ . Isn’t  _ every _ issue the architecture issue?”

Beneath the text is a picture that Mason took of the front of the Lorraine Martin Mental Health and Education Building. Derek’s building.

“B-b-but,” Derek stammered, “this isn’t supposed to be out until next month!”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles was smirking. Derek could tell from his foot-shuffling and his barely-contained smile that he was just buzzing with excitement. “I made a few calls, pulled a few strings, worked my magic...”

“Lydia got it for you, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

Derek smiled broadly. He looked back down at the magazine, running his hand gently over the glossy cover. It was amazing. He never in a million years thought his work would be seen by anyone outside of Beacon Hills, much less have it appear in print. But here it was, in full-color glory, on the biggest architectural magazine in the world. It was wildly exciting, and also humbling. He didn’t feel worthy of the honor.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“I can.” Stiles grasped Derek’s elbow. “God, Derek, the work you did on that building was truly inspired. Lydia won’t stop talking about it. And everyone who goes inside talks about how beautiful it is, but also how  _ needed _ that building was. Lydia only had to talk to the editor once to get them to feature you.”

Derek shook his head with disbelief. The whole thing was so surreal. He flipped through the pages, finding the article in the middle. The picture of himself standing in the middle of the completed atrium of the building—wearing Stiles’ jacket—was blown up across two pages. The title, “The New Future of Health Care” styled elegantly across the bottom of the page.

“Will you read it to me?” Stiles asked gently.

The lump in Derek’s throat prevented him from speaking, but he nodded and took Stiles’ hand again, placing a kiss on it gently before walking back to the porch. He climbed the few steps and seated himself on the porch swing, angling his body so that Stiles could curl in next to him, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He unfolded the magazine, resting it on his lap so that Stiles could see the pictures.

The story highlighted Derek’s rise to fame as a designer on the West Coast. It featured his wing at the hospital, but also mentioned some of his other projects, as well as his team that helped him. Lydia was prominently featured in the article (“Big surprise there,” Stiles joked.), and even Stiles was mentioned as his “artistic director” for securing the art pieces that hung throughout the new building. The article called Derek “an exciting new face in the world of health care architectural innovation”.

Stiles beamed through the entire article, his thumb skimming over the corner of the page as Derek read aloud.

It felt right that he would reading this article here, where both his life and his design career began. He was closing out this chapter of his life, and moving on to a new and exciting one in a different city. It was an excellent bookend to this section of his career. And with Erica and Boyd set to turn the house into a home again, there was no better time to do it.

Derek finished the article with a sigh and turned to Stiles, who was looking at him with the look that Derek had categorized under the ‘ _ I’m so fucking proud of you’ _ tab in his brain. Derek tilted Stiles’ chin towards him and kissed him softly.

“Thank you for this.”

Stiles blinked rapidly. “Thank me? What did I do?”

“If you hadn’t told Lydia about me, none of this would have happened.” Stiles started to shake his head, but Derek interrupted. “No, I’m serious. Whoever Lydia picked for this project would have gotten this article. The only reason it’s me is because of you.”

Stiles pushed himself up and put his hand on Derek’s chest. “Derek. Stop it. No self-doubting with me, you promised.” Stiles grabbed the magazine from Derek’s hand and held it close. “Didn’t you just read what Lydia said in the article? This project was dead in the water before you came along. No one could have done what you did with it.  _ Your work  _ got you on this cover. You think  _ Architectural Digest _ is going to feature it if you’re a one-off? There’s a reason they visited this house and five other projects you’ve done this year. It’s all your work combined that impressed them enough to feature you.”

Derek’s head dropped. It was still unbelievable to imagine that he had become this successful architect. He always figured he’d have steady work in Beacon Hills, maybe some towns around it, but this? Designing in San Francisco, with contracts in Seattle and San Diego and LA, too? It was almost too much to wrap his brain around.

“It’s been a crazy year. So much has happened in my career, it’s been overwhelming.”

Stiles set the magazine on the seat next to him and turned to straddle Derek’s lap. He smirked at Derek’s look of surprise. “And you got me on top of all of that!”

Derek saw Stiles’ teasing, but also saw through it to the underlying worry in Stiles’ eyes. Derek brushed the hair off of Stiles’ forehead, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. He wanted to soothe that worry out of him. “Yeah, I did. But hey—no self-doubt from you either. You’re the best part of this year.” He felt Stiles’ tension ebb from his body with the words, and Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ back and held him close.

So much about their new relationship had worked remarkably well. Even with their... _ unusual _ start, they found the compatibility that they shared to be nothing short of incredible. Derek loved Stiles’ zest for life and how he filled Derek’s life with laughter and jokes and teasing sarcasm. He loved Stiles’ commitment to the museum, but also to making everything around him beautiful. Stiles turned out to be quite a talented artist himself, and the paintings he made for Derek’s minimalist-style loft (“Having nothing on the walls isn’t a design choice, Derek. Your loft just looks bleak.”) warmed his heart whenever he looked at them. 

They loved arguing together. Derek particularly got a thrill whenever he could get Stiles on one of his long-winded rants about the latest comic book news (“I would love to think of myself as Iron Man, but I’m totally Deadpool.”), or how he felt about a potential Han Solo trilogy (“ _ Why _ are they making it into three movies? Han Solo is  _ literally _ a dead property now!”). And Stiles loved challenging Derek’s stubbornness and what Stiles lovingly called “his old man sensibilities”. Stiles got Derek addicted to Snapchat, and it thrilled Stiles whenever he would get a snap of Derek wearing a flower crown or antlers.

And, considering the electricity that had sizzled between them since they first met, it was no surprise that the physical intimacy between them worked, too. “We are hot as  _ fuck _ !” Stiles had exclaimed one night, fist-pumping into the air and making Derek laugh so hard that tears had come out of his eyes. Derek loved exploring Stiles’ body, cataloguing all of his reactions as carefully as he had catalogued Stiles’ facial expressions. He wasn’t shy about what he liked, and Derek relished every squeak and sigh and moan that he could draw out of him with his fingers and his tongue. 

The year hadn’t always been easy, though. Every relationship took work, and theirs, with the mistrust at the beginning, seemed to take more work sometimes than most. Stiles was impulsive and...non-traditionally organized (“Derek, I can find anything in here in 2 minutes or less. Try me.” “You’ll have to unbury yourself from the pile first.”) and always had some lingering worry that Derek would change his mind and run off. And for Derek? The years of independence and emotional guardedness got frustrating for Stiles. They had to build up trust in each other slowly, with whispered promises in the dark and honesty pressed into their skin.

Stiles took Derek’s face in his hands, his thumb rubbing patterns into the stubble on his cheeks. He pressed kisses to Derek’s face one at a time, punctuating each of his words. “I have...one other...surprise...for you.” He ended by kissing the tip of Derek’s nose, grinning as Derek scrunched it in response.

“More surprises? You showing up here early wasn’t surprise enough?”

Derek’s hands rested on Stiles’ hips, his fingertips slipping gently under the hem of his shirt, loving the feeling of his smooth skin. He couldn’t get enough of Stiles on a regular day, but here, with the excitement of the magazine, and the Ouija board revelation, and the way Stiles looked curled up with him on the porch? Derek wanted to remember this moment forever.

Stiles sat back on Derek’s knees, practically bouncing with excitement. “So, you know how I’ve been working with Schnabel since his exhibit at the museum?” Derek nodded. Schnabel’s work had been exceedingly well-accepted at the Legion of Honor, and the artist had been particularly impressed with Stiles’ work with the project. He had hired Stiles to help him get his exhibits in more locations around the country—apparently Schnabel wasn’t “a people person” or something, and wanted Stiles’ PR work. “Well, the Punta della Dogana in Venice just accepted Schnabel’s proposal for their gallery, and he heads there in two months!”

Derek beamed. “Stiles, that’s amazing! Julian must be so excited.”

Stiles grinned. “Yeah, he is. He said he wouldn’t have been able to do it without me. In fact, the Dogana wants me to come along to help with the gallery setup.”

“Wow, Stiles, that’s incredible!”

“And I want you to come with me.”

Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’ hips slightly. “What?”

Stiles rested his hands on Derek’s chest. “I checked with Mason, you only have that project in Seattle right now, and you’re way ahead on your work for the hospital in LA. It’s perfect timing, and I want you to come with me.”

“To Venice.”

Stiles nodded. “To Venice. I thought we could do it right this time.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be looking for anyone else while I was there, so it’d be better than last time already.”

Stiles chuckled. “You looked for someone else, but you found me.”

“Thank god I did.” Derek leaned forward and kissed Stiles on his upturned nose.

“So what do you think? Will you come to Venice with me, Derek Hale?”

Derek looked into Stiles’ expectant eyes. He’d left Italy with such a terrible taste in his mouth the last time, and it had hurt him to think that the country would always be soured by negative memories. But now, he allowed himself to think of spending time there again, this time with Stiles on his arm. They’d snuggle on a canal boat together, walk the cobblestone streets hand-in-hand, feed each other over candlelight, and hopefully dance under the stars in St. Mark’s Square again. As the images flew through his imagination, he smiled, knowing it would be the perfect opportunity to ask Stiles to marry him. He’d had the ring for a few weeks, but had been waiting for the perfect moment. Proposing in the city where they had first met felt like....destiny.

Derek lifted one of his hands up to the side of Stiles’ face, and he drank in the face of the man he was excited to spend the rest of his life with. “I’d love nothing more, Stiles Stilinski.”

Footsteps on the porch steps drew their attention, and Derek leaned over to look past Stiles. Standing at the top of the steps were a smiling Boyd and Erica, little Alicia in her arms. Boyd held a diaper bag in one hand and lunch bags in the other. Erica leaned down to Alicia and pointed at Stiles and Derek, smiling. 

“See, Alicia? I told you. Your Uncle Derek is a total sap.”   
  
  


****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you ALL for your support for me and this story. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as I do!
> 
> Special thanks to PantsQueen and Sabrina, for their tireless ears in listening to me rant and cry about the plotting here. And also to Janey, Char, and Blaidd for their endless cheerleading.
> 
> Truly, I live for your comments, so if you feel led, I'd love for you to drop a note to let me know what you thought. This is only my second Sterek story, and I'd love to know how I did.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Twitter and Tumblr, @im2old4thisotp


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